100 Kinks
by SuperWhoooCrankThatSouljaBoy
Summary: I'm doing the 100 kinks challenge on my tumblr. The theme is Superwholock, and this series will have ficlets and drabbles with pairings from all three fandoms. I'll name the kink and the pairing in the chapter titles. The ratings will range from fluffy Teen to super smutty Mature. I'm also currently taking pairing requests on my tumblr for the kinks of the week.
1. Kissing- DeanCas

**Rating:** Teen and Up

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Warnings:** None

**Summary: **Dean and Cas share their first kiss amidst Star Wars references.

(1. Kissing- Dean/Cas)

**A/N: **This ficlet is the first in a Superwholock series that is fulfilling the 100 kinks challenge created by PhandomDoodles on tumblr (warning, link is nsfw).

I take requests weekly for character pairings for the kinks on my tumblr (On the right banner you can see the kinks of the week that are open for requests.)

(Also in case you were wondering if I was a big enough nerd to name this fic after the repulsive and attractive forces emitted by graviphotons, as a reference to the repulsive and attractive forces between Dean and Cas let me set your mind at ease by saying, "Yes. Yes, I am.")  
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It was a normal day.

Sam was making a supply run. Dean had just finished doing a maintenance check on all the weapons. Cas had finished translating some Enochian sigils from a book in the Men of Letters library around the same time. Dean was now sitting on the couch with Cas trying to wheedle him into watching Star Wars- A New Hope with him for the third time, hoping that he'd "get" it this time around.

Cas frowned at him. "I still don't understand, Dean, how does one farm moisture?"

Dean scrunched up his face, after all this time still bewildered by what Cas chose to focus on. "I don't know, Cas. They pull it from the air or something. It doesn't matter."

"Why would there be an excess of humidity on a desert planet?"

"Look I told you, it's not important. Man, lightsabers. Lightsabers, Cas that's what's important."

"Those make even less sense mechanically," Cas shook his head. "I refuse to watch this internally inconsistent movie for a third time."

"Internally incon-Cas," Dean sputtered, hopeless at Cas's arbitrary rejection of one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of all time.

It was just a normal day. Until it wasn't.

After some finagling and Sam-worthy puppy dog eyes that Dean was not proud of, Cas had finally agreed to watch the movie. They hadn't gotten very far (just past where the rebel ship gets caught in a tractor beam) before Cas was full on ranting about all of the "ridiculous logic" and a "fundamental misunderstanding of graviphotons". He was so incensed that Dean actually paused the movie. He turned to Cas, and decided to just let him go, get it out of his system. It was actually nice, listening to Cas like this. He'd missed having him around more than his "man card" would ever let him admit. His eyes started drifting to Cas's lips. He'd missed him so much. Couldn't stop having dreams about him. Wanted to stop having dreams about him. Spent far too many of his waking hours very deliberately not thinking about Cas. Somewhere, dimly, he heard Cas asking "Why are you looking at me like that?" Cas was smiling. Cas didn't smile nearly enough.

Dean's lips were on Cas's.

He had no fucking clue how that happened. It was like a mini-blackout. One minute Cas was ranting, the next they were kissing. He knew he must have initiated it, because Cas momentarily stiffened with shock. But only for a split second. Then he was licking into Dean's mouth with a hunger that knocked the air right out of Dean. Fuck. Dean had no idea where his brain had gone, because it certainly wasn't in his head. He kissed Cas back like it was as necessary to him as breathing. He pushed his mouth against Cas's, tongue hot and heavy in his mouth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Suddenly Dean's brain was back in gear and he pulled away, eyes wide. He stared at Cas, who was breathing heavily, and looked as though he'd been fucked six ways from Sunday.

Cas determinedly reached for Dean again, but Dean pushed him away. Dean could practically see Cas's brain snap back online too, as he looked up at him with hurt eyes.

"Dean-"

"No." Dean cut him off. He couldn't believe he'd done this. Not to Cas. "No, I- no, Cas." He sat silent for a moment, trying to unscramble the words he needed to say, and Cas let him. Dean closed his eyes and looked away, gritting his teeth. "This did not happen. We are going to go back to our rooms. We are not going to talk about this, to anyone. Because this didn't fucking happen." Poison, Dean kept reminding himself. He was poison. Couldn't do this to Cas.

"Dean-" Cas started. He sounded broken, and Dean couldn't look at him. He'd already made his position clear. So he got up and walked out the door, priding himself on not looking back once.

The second time Dean kissed Cas, it was far from a normal day.

It was a month after the first incident. Cas, true to Dean's wishes, hadn't said a damned word to anyone as far as Dean could tell. They'd been up against some heavy hitters, and for a few horrible minutes Dean was sure he was going to lose Cas. The minute they'd finished the job and all survived, Dean found his lips on Cas's again. Dean experienced the same momentary blackout that he had before their first kiss. One minute he wasn't kissing Cas, the next minute he was. He had no memory of what happened in-between. Cas responded with the same desperate hunger he'd responded with the first time Dean had kissed him. And the next thing Dean knew he was up against a wall. No mouth had ever felt this good. Nothing had ever felt so right. It felt as though someone was touching that lonely place deep down inside him that he never talked about, and healing it from the inside out. But once again, the minute his brain was working with any semblance of functionality again, he pushed Cas away. Poison. Poison. Poison.

This time he didn't even bother with an explanation. He simply walked away.

There was a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth.

Dean always initiated; Cas always responded. Aside from a few half hearted attempts at talking, Cas never asked for anything more, for which Dean was grateful. He didn't want to keep breaking. If he knew how to stop it, he would. Every single thing he'd ever touched, he'd ruined, and he felt like every time he touched Cas, he made his chances of ruining Cas that much greater. But the more he touched him, the more he wanted him. The more he wanted him, the more he wanted to stop. But he didn't know how. Before long, he was breaking every week. Then twice a week. Then every other day. All the while the dual needs to both touch and not touch Cas grew. Three months down the line, Dean was in agony. If he'd been able to see Cas clearly at the time, he would have noticed that Cas wasn't doing much better.

Considering how frequent Dean's lapses in self control had gotten, it was only a matter of time before Sam walked in on one. He'd been ecstatic. He'd immediately jumped to the conclusion that Cas and Dean had finally come to terms with how they felt about each other. He'd teased and asked if they were boyfriend and boyfriend now, and said how there were a great many people who "Better pay up," the next time he saw them. Dean could slowly see Cas's heart breaking. When Sam finally caught on to their less than joyful expressions, he'd allowed himself to be shooed out of the room with no more than a cursory, "We're figuring it out," from Dean.

Once Sam was gone, Cas spoke up with a quiet determination that nearly shattered what was left of Dean's heart. "This can't continue, Dean. I'm sorry. I want to- I wanted to- give you time. You can still have time. I'll always be-" he shook his head. Dean hadn't seen him this close to tears in a long time. "I don't know what to do."

Dean looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in weeks. He'd become afraid to look at Cas too closely as of late, it seemed to trigger his lapses. It only cemented his determination to find a way to stop this. "I can't break you Cas. Everything I touch, everyone I've ever touched, I break them all. I can't break you too."

Cas looked at him, briefly shocked, and then fully outraged. "That is what you have been worried about? This whole time I- that's what you've been worried about?!" He stood up, furious, "Dean, I thought-" he choked out the most humorless laugh Dean had ever heard. "I thought that you were pulling away because you knew you didn't love me the same way that I love you."

"Cas-" Dean breathed out.

Cas took this as an interruption and held up his finger up to halt Dean, shaking, "I thought you might find my vessel's gender off-putting. I thought you were unable to trust me after everything that I have done. I thought you feared my mortality or your own would separate us." Cas was so frustrated that he was having trouble even looking at Dean. "I thought of hundreds of other reasons for your actions, Dean. Hundreds that were better than the one you just gave me. I did not think, after everything we have been through, that you were still so blind as to believe that you are cancerous to everything you love. What will it take to get it through your thick head, that you are not poison, Dean Winchester?"

Dean, unfortunately, hadn't heard half of that speech. He'd never been able to get past the phrase, "I love you." Everything after Cas silencing him had just been white noise. "You love me?" he asked.

Cas's whole body sagged immediately, all of the anger blown out of him at the unconscious vulnerability in Dean's voice. "Of course I do, Dean. Of course." There was a heavy beat, and then Cas finally plucked up the courage to ask, "Dean, do you want this?"

They stood silently for a moment while Dean processed. Deep down, he knew. He already knew. Whether or not Cas ended up broken because of him, he couldn't let Cas go. Just like he couldn't let Sam go. It was going to be the most selfish thing he'd ever done, but he was going to say yes, because he didn't know how to do any different.

Slowly, Dean nodded. "Yeah, Cas. God help me, I do."

In a few steps Cas had crossed the distance between them, and for the first time, Cas kissed Dean.

Six months later Dean was sitting on the couch with Cas half in his lap kissing him like his life depended on it. Star Wars- A New Hope was on in the background, but Dean hadn't been paying attention since the appearance of Obi-Wan when Cas had started asking ridiculous questions and Dean had decided to shut him up with his mouth. This was their tenth time attempting to watch the movie in full since that day, all those months ago when they'd shared their first kiss; Dean had a feeling they were never going to make it all the way through. But you never know, sometimes the eleventh time is the charm. So Dean kept trying. Besides, every time they attempted to watch it, they'd wound up making out on the couch, a situation that Dean was certainly not averse to.

Then again there were very few activities that did not result in them making out. Once Dean had accepted that keeping Castiel safe by keeping him away was a lost cause, he'd had no reason not to kiss Cas every time the mood struck him, which, as it turned out, was quite frequently. As for Cas, now that he knew how Dean felt, he had become quite liberal in his affections as well, stealing kisses whenever he could. It was a dangerous situation for poor Sam, who had at first found it sweet, but now, due to constant exposure, reacted like a five year old seeing his parents kiss. He'd even taken to knocking before entering any room, hallway, closet, or stairwell, really before entering anything that could be deemed an "enclosed space." He seemed to take nothing for granted ever since he'd found them making out half naked in a confessional booth. So it was no surprise when, moments later, Dean and Cas heard a tapping on the wall immediately adjacent to the living room.

"All clear?" Sam called out.

Dean pulled away from Cas, and let him snuggle up against his chest. The degree to which their relationship had turned them both into big, giant softies was occasionally very unsettling to Dean. "You're an angel of the lord, goddammit," Dean whispered to Cas, who responded by simply snuggling closer. Dean reluctantly flung his arm around Cas's side and grumpily muttered something about "Righteous Man" and "killed hundreds of demons," before sounding the all clear to Sam. Luckily for Sam's un-punched balls, he made no comment on the cozy way Cas and Dean were curled up together. He simply plopped down on the couch, and proffered a bowl of popcorn to Dean while commenting, "You know being a moisture farmer never made any sense to me. How are they getting water out of the air in a desert?"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean replied, grabbing a handful of popcorn. He didn't need to look down to see the shit eating grin on Cas's face.

After all, it was just a normal day.


	2. Discovering boundaries- Rose10

**Rating:** Teen and Up

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Warnings:** None

**Summary: **Sometimes it seems to Rose as though she and the Doctor are speaking completely different languages. An early morning mishap has her remembering the humorous side of this imbalance.

Cute little fluffy drabble.

(2. Discovering boundaries (making rules etc.)- Rose/ 10th Doctor)

**A/N: **This ficlet is the second in a Superwholock series that is fulfilling the 100 kinks challenge created by PhandomDoodles on tumblr (warning, link is nsfw).

I take requests weekly for character pairings for the kinks on my tumblr  
>(On the right banner you can see the kinks of the week that are currently open for requests.)<p>

Rose squinted at the paper the Doctor had left in her room. She turned it upside down, wondering if it would make more sense this way. She felt a familiar pounding take up residence behind her eyes, and finally decided to go ask the Doctor what in the world this was supposed to be.

"Doctor, what the hell is this thing you left in my room?" Rose called out, stomping towards the control room, mildly annoyed at having to get out of bed so quickly after having woken up. Even in the void of space, Rose Tyler was not a morning person.

She rounded the corner to find the Doctor, already dressed in his brown pinstripe suit, fiddling with the mechanics of a lever on the control panel. He popped his head up and smiled the moment she entered the room. "Morning Rose! How are you this fine morning?"

"Um, fine. Yeah, bit confused," she replied, brandishing the paper. "What's this supposed to be?"

The Doctor blinked, also seemingly a bit at sea, "It-It's what you asked for."

"What_ I_ asked for? Doctor, I don't even know what _it_ is?"

"My limit's list. You asked for it a couple nights ago. I had to look up some old equations but I-" He stopped. Rose had burst out laughing. "What, what is it?"

"You gave me a-" she started laughing again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. A-." More laughter. "Maths! You gave me math limits!"

The doctor stared at Rose, baffled. "Yes. You asked for my limits sheet. What other kind of limits would you put on a sheet? I confess, I didn't really understand why you would want such a thing, but then I supposed that one's favorite limits can be quite telling about-"

Rose held up her hand, "Doctor, stop. I meant, you know, _sexy_ limits."

"Sexy limits?"

"Yeah, like: 'Don't call me names,' or 'I'm really into tarty underthings.' That sort of thing. Think of it as a 'yes, no, maybe' list for sex."

"Oh!" the Doctor's whole face lit up, "Why that's a brilliant idea! You humans, absolute geniuses."

Rose smiled at his enthusiasm, and walked up the stairs to loop an arm lazily around his neck. "Well, we have to do something right."

The Doctor smiled back. Happy that her life was so strange and lovely thanks to the being standing in front of her, she leaned in and kissed him.

After a moment, the Doctor pulled back to interject, "All though really, I wasn't too far off the mark. Squeeze Theorem's on that sheet, and it can be fantastically erotic given the right circumstances."

"You'll have to show me. I was never very good at maths, but then I never really had a properly motivating teacher. What do you say, Mr. Smith? Willing to be my tutor?"

Judging by his response, Rose could at least put down role play as an emphatic yes. One down, so many more to go.


	3. On the sofa- SamDean (Weecest)

**Rating:** NC-17

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Warnings:** Weecest, Dirty Talk, Anal Sex

**Summary: **Dean used to hate it every time John left him and Sammy alone at a motel. Now his feelings are a bit more nuanced. That might have something to do with how fucking loud Sammy is during sex.

(3. On the sofa- Sam/Dean (Weecest)

**A/N: **This is from a writing challenge I've started doing on tumblr. (Phandom Doodle's 100 kinks challenge) I began in it an attempt to write shorter fics. It is not helping. At all. But I'm already in too deep to care.

So come request some pairings.

Enable me.

Now that Dean was older, sometimes he almost liked it when dad left him and Sam alone. The reason for that change of heart was currently strung out and writhing in his lap.

"Dean. Dean," Sam kept moaning as Dean sucked on his neck, his hips twitching needily. "Mmmm. Dean, please." Never able to deny his baby brother, Dean thrust both hands down the back of Sam's undone jeans, and ground Sam down against himself. Sam all but wailed in response. That, that there was why Dean was glad John was gone. His boy was loud, and trying to muffle Sam during stolen quickies was no mean feat. It was always nicer when Dean didn't have to worry that Sam's fuck-hot, break-the-sound-barrier moaning was going to bring their whole world crashing down around their ears.

As Dean let Sam rut against his clothed cock, he started to pull Sam's shirt off. Sometimes when dad left, they just sat on the couch, making out for hours, but Sammy's breath was already hitching, and Dean could tell that this was not one of those nights. Once Sam's shirt was off, Dean allowed himself to spend a couple minutes exploring the skin of Sam's torso, before a beseeching whine prompted him to shrug off his own shirt. He smirked up at Sam, "You need it bad tonight, huh Sammy?"

Sam simply nodded and started kissing Dean again. When he felt Sam's hands pawing at his belt buckle, too turned on to work it properly, Dean gently clasped Sam's hands in his own and pulled them away. "Don't worry, Sammy," he said, undoing the buckle himself, "I got you." Sam watched with single minded focus as Dean pulled his belt off. "Sit up a little there, Sammy." Sam whimpered, ground down, and started to kiss him again, not wanting to lose the friction that Dean, even while clothed, provided. Dean smiled into the kiss. He loved how the promise of sex never failed to turn his intensely intelligent little brother into a yowling ball of need that couldn't think past the next few seconds. When Sam's moans pitched up into frustration again, Dean pulled back and tried to persuade Sam to move. "Hey, hey, c'mon, Sammy, just for a minute. Just need a little room to get my pants down." He pushed his hands down the back of Sam's pants again, hoping the extra touch would placate him enough to get him moving. It worked and with a hitch of his hips, Sam raised up onto his knees. With one hand, Dean awkwardly shoved his pants and underwear down enough to get his cock out.

The moment it was out, Sam plopped back down and started stroking it. Dean sucked in a breath and threw his head back. He'd love to say that Sam got all his sex skills from him. But Sam had started the game with an unreal amount of natural talent. And certain things, like this, Sam just fell into, without a word of instruction from Dean. With Dean's throat bared, Sam started sucking a string of kisses from his collarbone to his jaw. "Sam," Dean choked out, "Gotta get you out of those pants. Gotta get you prepped." In no hurry to move when he was already enjoying himself, Sam pretended he hadn't heard, and continued to jack Dean off. "Sammy," Dean warned. "C'mon, I know you hate getting prepped, so we better get started." It was true. Sam was so impatient, that every single time Dean tried to prep him, he fought tooth and nail, begging for Dean to just fuck him. But on this one issue, Dean was resolute. Like hell he was going to fuck Sammy without any prep and hurt the boy; he'd never forgive himself.

Sam whined in protest, but eventually got to his feet when Dean growled out, "Sammy, I'm serious." Dean patted Sam's belly as he got up, "Yeah, yeah quit your bellyaching." Once Sam was standing, Dean wasted no time in stripping his pants off and pulling Sam back down into his lap. "See, no time at all." Sam rolled his hips, reveling in feeling of his bare skin against Dean's jeans. While Sam was distracted, Dean reached for the lube and slicked up his fingers. But when Sam opened his eyes and saw what Dean was doing, he shook his head and reached for Dean's cock again.

"No, Dean, don't wanna wait. Put it on your cock, want you to fuck me."

Dean hissed. "Jesus, Sammy."

Sam wriggled his ass against Dean's thighs, using every advantage his horny mind could muster. "Pleeeaaase Dean. I'll be fine. Don't need stretching, just want it. Want your cock, please."

"Sammy, I gotta-"

"Please, Dean I need you inside me. C'mon, wanna bounce on it, big brother-"

"Fuck, Sammy!" The little fucker knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe Dean had misestimated just how addled Sammy's brain really was during these encounters. But no. No. Dean was not budging. Sammy may not think so, but he really did need to be stretched. Dean wasn't going to let himself be wheedled out of doing what was best for Sam by a few lines of dirty talk. He closed his eyes to steel himself, and when he opened them he pulled Sam's hand away from his cock with the unlubed fingers of his left hand. "Nuh-uh Sammy, not gonna be that easy. Now lean forward and let me get you ready."

"But Dean-"

"Now, Sammy."

Sam harrumphed, but he did as Dean instructed. "Good boy," Dean praised. He rubbed a hand soothingly over Sam's back, hoping to take the edge off for him as he skirted the tip of his finger over his hole. Sam still moaned pitifully and pushed his ass back towards Dean's fingers, but he didn't try to sit up again, which Dean counted as a success. Dean pushed his first finger slowly into Sam, who stiffened in arousal and started begging again. As much as Dean loved the sounds that Sam made, he always had to tune him out when he was fingering him, or he'd never make it. The one time Dean had blown his load while fingering Sam, he'd been made to wear a cock ring for the following week during all of their encounters at Sam's insistence; because Sam had been royally pissed, and refused to chance another fingering where he didn't get fucked afterwards. He loved Sam, he did, but he was such a needful cock slut that sometimes it bordered on viciousness.

So Dean did his best to fill his ears with white noise as he pushed a second finger into his little brother. Unfortunately he couldn't tune out the way that Sam squirmed when he started to scissor him. He desperately tried to avoid Sam's prostate, but when he started scissoring Sam with three fingers, it couldn't be helped. Every time he so much as grazed Sammy's prostate he let out a shout and started babbling out a stream of inane filth that essentially boiled down to, "Put your goddamn cock in me." Luckily Dean declared Sam satisfactorily stretched only a few minutes after adding his third finger. Sam was needy to the point of anger, so Dean didn't waste time telling him he was done, he simply stroked some lube on his cock and seated himself inside of Sam with one efficient thrust.

Sam moaned in relief, and immediately started riding Dean. Dean groaned and leaned back, letting his hands roam freely over Sam's body while he did all the work. Sam truly was stunning like this, all coltish limbs and tanned skin. Often Dean couldn't believe that Sam wanted him, not just like this, but at all. But the time for detached musings was short lived, and before long Dean was just as much a slave to the sensations coursing through his body as Sam was. He grunted and started fucking up into Sam, gripping his hips. For his part Sam simply moaned and rode him harder. Dean felt himself getting close to coming, and wrapped his hand around the back of Sam's neck to pull him in for a possessive kiss.

Despite being muffled by Dean's tongue in his mouth, Sammy was somehow getting louder. When his cries started to get higher pitched, Dean knew he was getting close to coming. He pulled back and wrapped a hand around Sam's cock. "Come on Sammy. Come on, come for me baby."

Sam arched back and all but screamed, "Dean!" Dean watched, entranced as Sam's come painted his own chest.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean said pushing up into Sam without rhythm a handful of times before calling out, "Sammy!" and coming.

Once Dean was done, Sam, who had apparently only been holding it together for his sake, immediately went boneless. Unable to muster the energy required to move the both of them to the bed, Dean simply sagged and let their combined weight pull them horizontal. Sam mumbled sleepily and tucked his head against Dean's chest. Dean stretched his legs out and let himself be pulled under by his post orgasm sleepiness. His last conscious thought was that he'd never been happier in the knowledge that their dad was five states away.


	4. Masturbation- omega Sherlock

**Rating:** NC-17

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Warnings:** Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Masturbation

**Summary: **Sherlock is in heat. He fucking hates being in heat. And no matter what he does, his body seems thoroughly unswayed by all of his logical counterarguments to the necessity of his heat. However it is very interested in picturing his new flatmate naked.

(4. Masturbation- omega!Sherlock)

**A/N: **It is very strange to be releasing these things essentially the same day they are written. I'm used to the luxury of sitting and stewing over them for much longer.

Anyway, this is from a writing challenge I've started doing on tumblr. (Phandom Doodle's 100 kinks challenge) I began in it an attempt to write shorter fics. It is not helping. At all. But I'm already in too deep to care.

So come request some pairings.

(Most any Superwholock pairings are a-ok with me, kinks of the week are on the sidebar.)

Enable me.

Sherlock fucking hated this time of the year. He hated it with every cell of his hormone addled omega body. He was in heat. And his stupid omega body was doing everything it could to convince him that having pups right now was the most appealing thing on the planet. He hated it.

"Shut up!" he yelled down at his own body, "God, it is ludicrous that you continue to expect me to bear pups when I have done everything to deter you!"

Luckily new advancements in suppression drugs had gotten him down to only needing one outlet a year, but once a year was once to many for Sherlock. He couldn't wait until somebody figured out how to get rid of the damn things for good. Unfortunately until that day he had to endure yearly heats that left him yearning for a knot and fucking into his own fist until he couldn't bear to touch anything by the time his three days were up. Of course like all omegas, he needed a knot to orgasm when in heat. So in addition to copious amounts of masturbation, he had to bear the indignity of fucking himself on a silicone dick while he went through his heat.

He was currently on the second day of his heat, and he was already starting to feel sore. But nevertheless his pushed his knees under himself and propped himself up for another go; his body wasn't going to shut up until he came again.

"Fine! Fine! I'm going, see? I'm fucking doing it. I'm tricking you with a cheap plastic knot, but you don't know that, so will you please shut the fuck up for five seconds?"

He pushed the dildo through his slick and wished for the millionth time that day that it was a real cock. But it simply wasn't something he could risk. Anyone would tell you that omega birth control was patchy at best, and anyone that knew Sherlock could attest to the fact that he'd be an absolutely horrid mother. So, celibacy it was. There was nothing for it. He sighed and started to fuck himself with the dildo, imagining some faceless alpha driving into him.

"Feed me, Sherlock. Fuck me, Sherlock," he continued in a contemptuous tone, "You brainless thing, why must you refuse to accept that you are merely transport?"

He moaned when he started to hit the right spot inside of his traitorous body, and brought his hand up to his cock. He started to stroke himself with long pulls in time with the thrusts of the dildo. He really needed to build himself a fucking machine. Although, now that he had a flatmate, that actually might be easier said than done. John had accepted all of Sherlock's eccentricities thus far, but even Sherlock had to admit, sticking a fucking machine in the middle of the living room with no explanation might be pushing it a bit far.

John. Sherlock's breath hitched. The patient alpha that had just moved in with him was in Ireland for the week. Sherlock, of course, had purposefully timed his heat to take place when John wasn't in the apartment. But that didn't mean that Sherlock couldn't still smell him. The traces of John's intoxicating scent were all over the apartment, and Sherlock was finding it increasingly difficult to come up with reasons not to fantasize about John in place of the faceless alpha that he was currently picturing. One more good thrust of the dildo, and Sherlock's self control finally fell away.

Stupid, overeager body.

"John," he moaned lowly into the pillow, as he started to imagine John fucking him. His hips hitched in the air, and suddenly he was more into masturbating than he had been in the past five hours. He pictured the gentle doctor placing the head of his dick at Sherlock's wet hole and telling him how he was going to fuck his good omega nice and full. Unconsciously, Sherlock widened his stance, presenting for an alpha that wasn't even there. He imagined going limp at John's hand on the back of his neck while he entered him. He whimpered as the dildo bottomed out, thinking of John being fully seated in him. Slowly Sherlock started to push the dildo in and out of himself, no longer touching his dick, too focused on how good the cock (fake or not) felt inside of him. He kept picturing John as his alpha, telling him what a good little omega he was being, how hot he looked hanging off the end of his dick. Sherlock whimpered. His body thrummed with the need for a real cock. He started fucking himself with the dildo faster, trying to stave off his body's frustration that it was not John's warm, hard alpha cock inside of him.

When he started hitting that spot consistently, Sherlock started to call out John's name loudly. Suddenly he was very glad that Mrs. Hudson was out of town as well. He huffed, fucking his hips back against the dildo. He could already feel himself amping up. He envisioned how John's hands would feel against him, what his voice what sound like, how good he would smell. John already smelled fantastic. He couldn't imagine what he would smell like in a full on rut, fucking his omega. Sherlock whined at the thought. He pressed the button to make the toy's knot start to inflate, slowly, like a real alpha knot. He moaned, loudly as he felt it begin to catch at his rim, picturing John telling him he was going to breed him up good. "Fuck, fuck, John. Take me, knot me, please." If Sherlock had any compunction about begging an imaginary alpha to knot him, it flew completely out of his brain as the fake knot inflated fully, and popped past his rim. Sherlock spasmed and yowled, coming against the sheets, completely untouched.

He flopped down against the bed, breathing heavily. After a few minutes, his body finally quieted enough to notice that the smell of alpha in the air was stronger than it had been previously. But after pricking his ears up, and not hearing a single noise in the apartment, Sherlock brushed it off as simply being more attuned to John's scent after fantasizing about him. Even his sensed betrayed him during his heat. Soon he drifted off to sleep, happily more sated than he could ever remember being during a heat. Of course, good things can't last forever, and his body woke him up less than an hour later, insisting again that Sherlock's sole aim in life should be bearing pups.

"Utterly ridiculous," he muttered heaving himself up again, "The male form is patently unsuited to bear pups, as I have told you many times!" He sighed, starting to jerk himself again, "And yet you persist." He moaned as his body responded to the thrusts of the dildo, "Dear god, who designed you, you thoroughly useless organ?" Sherlock asked, addressing his asshole. "The next time somebody calls me an arsehole, I am taking far greater offense," he promised an empty room. "Useless," he said one final time, before being pulled under by the lust of his heat once more.


	5. Bodily fluids- DeanReader

**Summary: **You come home a little worse for the wear after a hunt. Dean insists on stitching you up and his reaction to you is not at all what you were expecting. It seems like Sam isn't the only Winchester with a blood kink.

Reader's gender is ambiguous, may be read as male or female (or as any other gender).

**Warnings: **slight gore, blood kink, facials, stitches

You walked into the motel room that you had been sharing with the Winchesters, never more excited in your life about getting a damned shower. Your face was sticky with blood (not yours thankfully), although you were littered with small cuts and bruises all over your damned body from your unexpected run in with the monster of the week.

You barely had time to close the door before you heard, "Oh shit, y/n?"

You turned and saw Dean up off the bed and already striding towards you. You held up your hands. "I'm fine! I'm fine, Dean." You gestured to the blood on your face, "Not mine."

"Whose?"

"Well, let's just say we can move on to the next town tomorrow morning."

"The chupe? You took out a chupacabra on your own?" Dean did not sound particularly happy.

"Yeah, well, didn't have much of a choice when the thing jumped me."

Dean's mouth twisted, still clearly unhappy about the whole situation, but not willing to push it. His eyes traced you assessingly, and before long he had your arm in his hand and was pushing the sleeve up, looking for injuries, "Well can't say I'm not impressed. You get the whole nest?"

"Only two, not really a nest," you said dismissively.

"When you're on your own it is," Dean replied. Moving to your other arm he found your first serious cut. You winced tellingly when he pulled your sleeve up. "Yours," he said accusingly, pointing to the wound.

"Yeah, yeah, can I just go get a shower, Winchester?"

"Nah, better get this stitched up first. What else you hiding?" Dean stated, starting to pat you down in search of injuries. You hissed when he found another gash on your lower left stomach, but luckily missed the one on your upper thigh. Once he was satisfied that he'd found all your stitchable injuries, Dean went to grab the needle and thread, waving you over to the bed. "C'mon grumpy face, it'll only take a minute, then you can get your precious shower."

You limped over to the bed, everything hurting a bit more now that your adrenaline was fading.

"Where's Sam?" you asked sitting gingerly on the bed.

"Staking out one of those places we thought was the chupe's nest, I just got back from another dead end. I'll call him and let him know it's alright to come home in a minute." He squatted down in front of you, "But let's get you taken care of first." You shuddered, thinking of all the other ways you'd like Dean to be "taking care" of you. Dean misinterpreted your shiver as fear, and hushed you, "Hey, hey, you ever gotten stitches before?" You scoffed in response, you'd gotten literally more stitches than you could count over your years as a hunter. "Well then you know it ain't gonna be that bad, so sit still." He threaded the needle and stitched up the smallest cut on your arm first (after disinfecting it of course, god that stung like a bitch, everytime). "Lay back," he instructed, pushing at your upper belly. You laid back on the bed, doing your best not to let out any noise that indicated your discomfort. Dean pulled up your shirt slightly and got to work on the gash on your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling, letting your mind wander as Dean sewed you up. You must have really spaced out, because it wasn't until Dean leaned closer to tie the knot that you realized he was breathing quite heavily. WTF was that about?

"Dean, you alright?" you asked.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, immediately guilty, "Yeah, yeah, fine. You good?"

"Uh-huh, Dean why are you breathing so hard?" Subtlety was never your forte. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. Maybe Dean was more troubled by your solo hunt than he was letting on. You looked down trying to puzzle him out. That's when you saw it. Dean had a boner.

Dean caught the direction of your eyes immediately, and put a hand over his crotch to cover himself up. He shrugged self consciously, "Sorry about that, years of hunting, wires get a little crossed. You uh- you look really hot to me right now." You did your best not to let your surprise show on your face. "It's just," he continued on, clearly embarrassed, "All the bad ass torn clothes and the um, yeah," he trailed off. Blood. You would have bet a thousand bucks he was about to say blood. Looked like Sam wasn't the only Winchester with a blood kink.

Well if he was game… You spread your legs in invitation, letting him see the cut on your inner thigh. "Help yourself."

Dean's eyes widened in shock, but he wasn't about to turn an offer like that down. "Fuck yeah," he said enthusiastically, widening the tear in your pants so that he could get at your cut. He lapped at the blood that had already run down your thigh, moaning as the coppery taste exploded in his mouth. He held your leg and worked slow circular patterns with his tongue until the area around your cut was completely clean. He looked up at you for permission, which you granted, before he molded his lips around the cut itself. You moaned, bucking up as the stinging pain shot through you. You clutched Dean's hair in your fingers, urging him to keep going. Dean wasn't the only one with kinks forged in a job that caused all sorts of strange wires to get crossed. You whined and rolled your hips as the pleasure of Dean's mouth, and the pain from your cut started to blend together. It had been ages since you'd done this and it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to start getting very close. Luckily Dean was moaning into your thigh in a way that indicated that he was not too far behind.

"Dean," you asked after a hitched breath. He "hmm"ed and looked up at you, still pulling mouthfuls of your coppery blood down his throat. "Dean, want you to cum on my face. Can you-"

You were cut of by Dean finally detaching his mouth from your skin to mutter, "Fuck." As he stood up, you noticed that his mouth was red, and god that should not be such a turn-on. You slid to your knees in front of Dean, pain completely forgotten in the new surge of adrenaline coursing through your body.

Dean pulled himself out of his jeans hurriedly and started jerking himself right in front of your face. You dimly noted that Dean had a very nice cock, and that you would very much like to ride it someday. However most of your brain was taken over by the need to have him mark you. You reached down between your legs and started touching yourself. So close. It seems looking down and seeing you playing with yourself was what did it for Dean, because moments later you felt his warm cum hit the bridge of your nose. Dean huffed and let out a low groan, continuing to stroke himself as another strand hit your cheek. You moaned and started fucking yourself harder. Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god. You pictured your own face, covered in blood and grime and Dean's cum. You finally gave in and came yourself with a moan of Dean's name. You felt yourself flooding with warmth as you came all over your own fingers. Fuck that felt good.

You and Dean sat in companionable silence as your mutual breathing returned to normal. Once it had, Dean commented, "You should really see yourself, y/n."

"Should I?"

"Yeah, you look fuckin' hot with my cum on you."

"Bet so."

"Go on, go have a look in the bathroom." You stood and started to pad towards the bathroom, actually looking forward to seeing your face, you could still feel Dean's cum sliding down it. "Don't shower though, I'll be in to take care of you some more in a minute." You smiled as you rounded the corner and looked in the mirror. He was right. You did look bad ass. Cum covered face and all.


	6. Oral sex- Souless SamReader

**Summary: **Despite some reservations, the sheer sexuality of soulless Sam Winchester keeps convincing you to make questionable decisions. Questionable for you anyway. Like giving a blow job on a Tuesday night to a guy that looks like he might just eat you if you don't do it right? Yeah. Decisions like that.

Stupid sexy bastard.

**Warnings: **Rough oral sex, pretty much what you'd expect from soulless!Sam

My god. You thought to yourself, having a brief panic moment. What fool part of your brain had convinced you this was a good idea? You had no clue. Well that was a lie, you knew exactly what part of your brain had convinced you that letting 6' 4" worth of manly beefcake drive you back to his motel room was a good idea; it was the part directly connected to your vagina. You glanced at said beefcake out of the corner of your eye. Now that you weren't kissing it was kind of awkward. He wasn't talking at all, but rather driving with a single minded determination back towards the motel.

"If you don't stop side eyeing me I'm going to stop and fuck you on the side of the road."

You jolted, that was definitely a bit rich for your blood. I mean, maybe if you knew the guy better… but exhibitionism? With a guy you just met? Nuh-uh, no thank you. You did get the feeling that was a little bit this guy's bag though. He'd definitely indicated that he'd been down for skipping the motel all together and getting dirty in the bar bathroom. But you'd definitely indicated that you were not down for that, and he'd kissed the life out of you and grabbed his keys in response. Which was definitely a response you could live with, the guy was a fantastic kisser.

But he sounded pretty damn solid on his pulling over threat, so you obediently cast your eyes back to the road. Luckily his motel was close, so you only had to endure a couple more minutes of awkward silence. And the minute you got inside the room, Sam had you against the door with your arms over your head and you forgot why you ever thought this was a bad idea. Moaning, you both started shucking clothes as fast as you could manage. Sam felt fantastic under your hands, all smooth skin and hard muscle. You whimpered when he started biting his way down your neck. You felt him smirk at your response, but he didn't say anything, and didn't slow down for a second. Before you knew it, you were completely naked, and he was down to his jeans. You popped the button and reached inside, dying to see if he was proportional. Commando. Of course this guy went fucking commando. The knowledge made you hot all over again, but not as hot as you felt when you finally grasped his dick. Jesus, turned out he was perfect all over. You started to stroke him up and down, while his huge hands roamed your body. Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to have him in your mouth.

You slipped under him, and fell to your knees. With your back to the door, and his huge form in front of you, you felt more closed in than you had expected, but before you had time to dwell on it, Sam's low groan threw your whole brain back on the "I wanna suck dick," track. You looked up to find him staring down at you, gaze predatory. God, this guy was intimidating. If you weren't so interested in fucking him, your instincts told you that you should definitely be running away.

"Suck it," he instructed.

Fuck, his voice. That was a tone that brooked no argument, and damned if you weren't going to obey. You pulled his jeans off, so that you had better access, and started to stroke him up and down.

"Did I say give me a hand job?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sir." Fuck! Where did that come from?

He smirked, and threaded his fingers through your hair. "Good girl."

You squirmed, that turned you on more than it should have. Instead of teasing, and licking like you normally would. You jumped right in and sucked his head right into your mouth.

"That's it," he praised. You slowly sucked more and more of him down until he hit the back of your throat. Then you started to bob up and down slowly, savoring the weight of him on your tongue. You always loved doing this, the smell, the feel, and damn if you didn't have the best view in the world right now.

After a few minutes, Sam tugged your hair in a silent cue to go faster. You obeyed and started to bob up and down more quickly. Sam started groaning lowly again, and rocking up to meet you. You reached down and fondled his balls, which caused him to let out a particularly loud grunt. He slowly started taking more control of your movements. When you bottomed out, he would push on the back of your head, holding himself there for a few moments, before allowing you to pull up again. For some reason that turned you on, and you started moaning around him.

"Such a fucking sub," you heard Sam mutter above you. What the hell was a sub? He seemed to like it. You'd urban dictionary it after this was all done, mid blow job didn't seem like the time to ask for a vocabulary lesson. And honestly, you didn't want to do anything that would deter him from fucking your mouth. Because the way he looked? The way he sounded? Yeah. This was going in your spank bank for all eternity. You sucked harder and started to bob faster, you wanted to know how he looked when he came. Sam was clearly down with this program and started tugging on your hair in encouragement.

"Fuck. Fuck, yeah." You kept sucking, until his thrusts started to get erratic. He was going to cum soon. You wanted it. You wanted him to cum all over you. But judging by the way he was holding your head, Sam had different ideas. He thrust into your mouth with shallow quick thrusts, and you were lucky you were playing with his balls, because otherwise you wouldn't have gotten a single bit of warning before he was spilling into your mouth. His whole body went stiff, and a shiver passed through him briefly, but that was it. He very obviously didn't make a sound, and before you knew it he was done and lazily thrusting through his after shocks. When he came in your mouth, you swallowed reflexively, and that got most of it. It felt slimy sliding down your throat. You'd never swallowed before, and to be honest, you didn't know that you'd do it again. But for some reason when Sam pulled out and thumbed your mouth open, smiling, and said, "Good girl," you reconsidered that decision.


	7. Something new- JoReader

**Summary: **Little known fact: Jo Harvelle was bisexual.

Even littler known fact: Jo Harvelle had yet to get past first base with a girl.

Incredibly obscure fact (in future to be known only by Jo and yourself): You were about to change all that.

**Warnings: **none that I can think of. run of the mill smut, pretty much

Little known fact: Jo Harvelle was bisexual.

Even littler known fact: Jo Harvelle had yet to get past first base with a girl.

Incredibly obscure fact (in future to be known only by Jo and yourself): You were about to change all that.

Now it wasn't like Jo hadn't tried to hook up with a girl in her 26 years on this earth, but it was harder than it looked. At the roadhouse, there weren't a lot of female hunters that rolled through, and even fewer that were her age. For the couple of girls that _had_ shown up at the roadhouse looking fully bangable as far as Jo was concerned, _well_ it was hard enough subtly picking up guys under her mom's watchful gaze. Trying to suss out if a girl swung her way while Ellen used her bat-like hearing to listen in? That was like trying to swim though concrete. Because all she had to do was give a guy the subtlest clue, and he'd follow her off to the nearest secluded area in a heart beat. Girls? In Jo's experience, she had to be a little more obvious, something she couldn't do with her hawk-eyed mom around. The handful of times she had gotten to make out with a girl had been during her brief stint at college. In all honesty, she suspected the girls she'd made out with had simply been experimenting. Which was just fine, I mean college and all, but the whole straight girls willing to make out at parties, but not go further thing, had made it hard for Jo to find someone who was interested in more. It wasn't like she'd had long to search. Party scene and freedom aside, college had been horrible for Jo. She fucking hated it. Hated people who couldn't relate to a single thing in her life; hated when she fucked up and said something that no "normal" person would say, talked about experiences no "normal" person would have; hated hiding huge chunks of who she was to pretend like she belonged there. Eventually all that hate built up and boiled over, unable to stand it for another minute, she'd packed up her bags in the middle of the night and headed home.

And aside from a couple trips to some bigger bars in the next town over, that was it. She'd just about given up on anything happening until she moved out of her mom's house. Jo was kind of frustrated about the whole situation, but hey dudes were still hella hot (if in a completely different way). Jo might be craving M&Ms at the moment, but that didn't mean she was going to turn her nose up at some peanut butter cups if that was all that was around.

That afternoon, Jo wiped down the bar and took inventory of all the booze, preparing for the rush that usually accompanied Friday nights at the Roadhouse. Finding the bar surprisingly low on a certain brand of whiskey (a staple of many hunters' diets), Jo left the few customers at the bar in the care of Ash, and walked off to find her mom. Ellen wanted Jo to make sure she'd counted right, and after a check, they found that they were indeed missing all but one bottle of Jack Daniels. Muttering a curse under her breath, Ellen yanked out her phone and proceeded to make a flurry of frantic phone calls. Being out of Jack was a particularly big problem as the slightly shady guy that supplied them with it on the cheap was a huge, controlling jerk; Ellen was the only one he was willing to deal with. So the minute that Jo and Ellen saw that they were almost out of Jack, they knew it would mean Ellen being out of the bar for a couple hours on one of the busiest nights of the week. But there was nothing to be done. So Ellen had called in a pair of replacements to help with the rush, and was out the door herself in under five minutes.

An hour later, the traffic was starting to pick up, and Jo was glad that her mom had called both Mandy and Andy in (even if Mandy was being a total grump about being called in last minute as she'd had to cancel a date). But grumpy help was still help, and Jo could already tell they were going to need all the help they could get. Jo was just pouring one of the regulars another double, already worrying about how low the whiskey bottle was getting, when out of the corner of her eye she saw you walk in.

"Okay. Definitely bangable," was the first thought that crossed Jo's mind. You sauntered over to the bar, hips swaying and slid onto one of the last empty barstools, definitely turning some heads in the overwhelmingly male bar. As Jo finished pouring the guy's double, and was able to get a better look at you while she walked over, she couldn't help but think, "Fuck yeah,_ definitely_." It was times like this that Jo was annoyed that she got a little shy around people she liked (or at least thought were hot). I mean, she _was_ a Harvelle, and that meant she was going to go after what she wanted, but it didn't mean it wasn't hard for her. She always had to push herself to make the first move, and sometimes she just wished it came easier to her. So if the smile that crossed her face was slightly shaky, she just hoped you didn't notice.

You didn't.

You were too busy trying not to be completely obvious while you checked out every inch of her. Holy crap. You did not see a 10 like this every day. Much less in a place like this. All sweet brown eyes, tan skin, and sunny smile, she was the very definition of "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" And god, that body. Her breasts looked full and soft, you could just see a peek of her flat tummy when she moved, and her surprisingly curvy hips looked like they'd fit perfectly in your hands. Once she started walking towards you it was a definite struggle to keep your eyes on her face. Not that there wasn't a great deal to look at there as well. Cute little nose, pink lips that you were definitely not thinking about kissing. Definitely not. Nope. Not even a little-oh fuck. You'd fallen headfirst into a fantasy of you pushing her up against a wall in the hallway to your left.

"Anything I can get for you?" Jo's voice startled you out of your little day dream.

You cleared your throat hoping your eyes hadn't gotten too glazed while you were in the midst of your little daydream. "Uh, yeah I'll have a shot of Jack to start."

You saw something flicker in Jo's eyes, but she said, "Sure, coming right up." You just hoped that flicker didn't have anything to do with you. Good lord, you hoped she hadn't noticed you ogling her. Moments later she came back, with a slightly stressed look on her face, "Sorry, we're out. Someone else just had the last round. Can I get you anything else?" Ah, she was just worried about not having your drink then, that was good.

You smiled, deciding to go for it. "Your name would be a nice start."

"Jo," the girl answered automatically, clearly a little unsure as to what was happening. You got that reaction a lot. What was an obvious come on in a hetero intereaction, often didn't read as one in a same sex interaction. Because fuck your life.

"Jo," you repeated slowly, rolling the name around in your mouth. Yeah, you were going for this. Years of constantly rolling through towns had made you pretty bold when it came to hitting on girls. It was a little easier to risk the dangers that came with hitting on a girl when you knew you'd be somewhere else within the week. "Well, Jo. Since you're out of my favorite drink, maybe you could find some other way to make it up to me," you leaned in suggestively, flashing her a glimpse of your cleavage.

Jo blinked, looking surprised, almost shocked. Hmm, must not swing for your team then. What a shame. Strange that she would pick up on it so quick though. You usually had to practically ask a straight girl if you could stick your tongue in her pussy before she understood that you weren't just being friendly. And the look on Jo's face said that she had definitely understood that you were hitting on her. You were just about to follow up with your drink order, straight forward and simple so she knew you were backing off, and didn't mean any harm, but Jo suddenly spoke up. "I- uh- yeah," she cleared her throat and seemed to get her feet back under herself, because when she spoke again it was definitely in a more confident tone, "I wouldn't want to be inhospitable. What did you have in mind…" she trailed off, clearly hoping that you'd supply your name.

"Y/N," you responded immediately. "Well, let's start with you having a drink with me, you have the time?" you asked looking around the bar which seemed to have settled a little for the moment.

"Yeah, I'm due for a break," Jo responded, suddenly very happy that they had run out of Jack. She walked over to one of the other bartenders, and whispered something in their ear before returning to you. "So what would you like?"

"I'll have whatever you're having."

Jo grinned and grabbed the bottle of tequila along with a couple lime slices. She set down the shot in front of you, and shrugged. "Seemed like that kind of a conversation."

You looked up at her and raised a brow, tequila shots were a "let's fuck" drink if you ever saw one. You liked how this girl thought. You dragged your tongue suggestively along your wrist before holding it out to her, "Salt?" Jo smirked and obliged, shaking some onto your spit slicked wrist. "Bottoms up," you said winking and tossing back the shot. God you were being cheesy with this girl You couldn't seem to help yourself though. If Jo got nervous around pretty girls, you got cliche. If you didn't find a way to pump the breaks soon, every tried and terrible pick up line was going to come pouring out of your mouth. Jo didn't seem to mind though. Her breathing did get decidedly heavier when you dragged your tongue along your wrist again. Your face scrunched when you bit the lime, something you'd never been able to will away, no matter how many times you'd tried. Jo laughed at the face you made.

"You were doing so well," she teased.

"Yeah, never been able to fix that last part."

"Let me show you how it's done," Jo said mirroring your earlier wink, before licking long line up her wrist. Fuck, the minute you saw that pink tongue on her wrist, you couldn't help but picture it elsewhere. You were sure your eyes were going glazed again. In quick succession Jo knocked back the shot, licked up the salt and sucked the lime in her mouth like a champ. She pulled the lime out of her mouth and grinned at you triumphantly, dropping it into the bowl, "And that's how it's done."

"How it's done indeed," you agreed, hoping your voice wasn't too breathless. Fuck, you just wanted to reach across the counter and kiss her. "Maybe, maybe you could teach me," jeez you were being forward. You always felt like you were being too forward whenever you went for one night stands, probably because it was so tough to read someone you'd just met. Sure enough, you saw Jo pull up short. You were worried until you saw her eyes trace your body with obvious want. Okay, so something else was holding her back. The job? "When's your shift over? I'm happy to wait, good teachers don't come around that often," you said, trying to keep your tone light.

Jo seemed to relax a little, "Midnight. It's my early night, believe it or not. Is that..."

You nodded, and were about to say that was fine, when someone came up and tapped Jo on the shoulder. Looking reluctant to leave, Jo murmured a quick, "Be right back." You watched as Jo followed the man who'd just tapped her on the shoulder. She had what appeared to be a very tense conversation with him. She glanced over her shoulder at you and held up a finger, indicating that she'd be back in a minute. The two of them left the bar and went into a back room. You sat patiently, hoping that whatever had come up wasn't going to derail the night. For a girl like Jo you'd certainly stay another night if you could, but it simply wasn't possible. You were on your way to a hunt, and you really couldn't spare the extra day.

Jo meanwhile was on the phone with her mom in the back room. It seemed she wasn't going to make it back tonight. After picking up the whiskey, she'd gotten caught in a hell of a storm on the way back and had to hole up in a motel. Ellen said it looked like it was heading their way, and that (as much as she hated to admit it) it was probably a good idea to close up the roadhouse and send everyone home before it hit. Already pissed about being called in, Andy wasn't too keen on the idea, but when Ellen offered to pay him double to say through the storm and man the front desk in case anyone came in late looking for a room, he backed down real quick. As Jo hung up on her mom, she did her best not to show how happy she was. She couldn't believe the break she'd caught. She hadn't been sure how in the hell she was going to hook up with you with either a full bar or her mom around, but it seemed as though both of those obstacles had been knocked out in one fell swoop. She felt as though she should be nervous, but she really wasn't. You were fuck hot, and all she wanted to do was get her hands on you. She'd been craving this for months if not years, and she certainly wasn't going to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.

So when she walked back out with Andy to tell everyone about the storm and announce last call, she slipped the key to the sole room on the third floor into her pocket. She definitely got some push back when she tried to tell everyone that they'd have to go home early, but when she let them know that it was because of a storm that had made the likes of Ellen Harvelle hole up for the night, practically no one even stuck around for last call. Soon only you, a couple die hards, and the bar staff were left. Jo walked over to you and said quietly, "If you need a place to stay," she slid the key discreetly to you across the bar, "It's on the house."

"Of course," you nodded, taking the key, relieved that the night wasn't over.

"It's the only one on the third floor and we're working on renovating it, so we don't always rent it. Since we may not have stocked it, I'll be up once we close down to make sure you have everything you need."

"Sure, sure. If I need anything should I call-" she cut you off.

"You can call me directly. I'll make sure to take good care of you," she scribbled her number on a bar napkin, blocking the view of what she was doing with her body. Okay, discretion was the name of the game. This girl was definitely not out.

You took the number gratefully and smiled, pushing your glass back towards her, "Well I certainly do appreciate you taking the time."

She grinned, "Of course. I wanted to add a personal touch, I find it makes all the difference to a customer." This girl was as cheesy as you.

You grinned back, and said loudly, as you slid of the bar stool, "Best of luck with this storm."

"You too, miss. Let us know if your room is missing anything."

You nodded and made your way out the door. You grabbed your bag from your car and made your way quickly up to the third floor, glad that the stairs were on the exterior of the building, that would make the fact that Jo was (hopefully) spending the entire night in your room less obvious. Once you'd reached your room, and put your bag down, it didn't take long for the excited butterflies to start up. There was no two ways about it, Jo was hot. So whether or not she wound up being good in bed, at least she'd be nice to look at. You had a good feeling about her though. She seemed kind of nervous, so she might be a little inexperienced. But you just had a feeling, the girl was gonna be a natural.

You let your mind play through a variety of fantasies about what she might be like in bed. Would she be rough and passionate? Or would she be slow and sensual? Maybe tentative and questioning? You could be her teacher. Or maybe a little bit of everything. You never really knew until you go someone in bed what they were going to be like. You'd been surprised enough times in your lifetime to know that was true. You supposed you'd just have to wait and see. In the meantime you got yourself cleaned up, washing all the grime you'd accumulated from a few days on the road off of you. You certainly felt much better once you were clean. You threw on the closest thing you had to sexy underwear (which was just a pretty sky blue version of your regular underwear), and sat down to wait. While you did, an idea occurred to you. Grinning, you grabbed your phone and punched in Jo's number. You deliberated for a bit whether calling or texting was the most discreet way to do this. Eventually you landed on texting, she could look at it at her convenience, and if she was worried about evidence, she could always delete the texts.

_Hey Jo, it's Y/N, looks like my room is out of something after all._

A couple minutes later, you got a text back.

_Oh yeah? And what's that?_

_Seems as though the room is completely out of tequila._

_That is a real shame, I apologize for our lapse in service. Is there anything else I can get you?_

_Well, I hate to complain. But there also aren't any salt or limes up here._

_A completely understandable complaint. I'll bring those right up once I'm done wiping down the bar._

_Thank you very much. And of course, not to be a bother but…_

_Anything miss, here at the Roadhouse we aim to please ;)_

_In that case, I seem to be missing the last ingredient for the drink I'm craving._

_What's that?_

_You see I'm just dying for a Body Shot, but I don't see anybody else in my room. Is there anything that your establishment could do to fix that?_

_I'll send a girl right up._

_Excellent. I seem to remember a smokin' hot blonde that worked for you, is there any way that she might be available?_

_Don't worry. She already volunteered for the job. She seems quite eager._

_Glad to hear it._

_Good, I should be up with everything you need for your drink in 15 minutes._

True to her word, 15 minutes later you heard a knock on your door. When you opened it up, sure enough, there was Jo on the other side, bottle of tequila in hand. This time you didn't try to hide the way you scanned her body up and down. Damn. The desire to touch her was suddenly overwhelming. You yanked her through the door and had her up against it in 5 seconds flat. Fuck, she tasted good. And she was a hell of a kisser. Distantly you heard the ingredients for the body shots hit the (luckily) carpeted floor. Next thing you knew you felt Jo's hands tracing up and down your sides. You moaned and threaded your hands through her hair. Yeah. This was the life. You weren't sure how long you made out with Jo pushed up against the door, but you did know that by the time you both broke away panting her hands were on your ass, your leg had made it's way between hers where she was grinding down for all she was worth, and your hands had crept up underneath her top to trace patterns along the smooth skin of her flat stomach. She started to kiss her way down your neck, clearly not willing to let this die down. You moaned and arched into her soft body as she found and sucked a hickey onto a sweet spot on your neck. Her hands tugged at the roots of your hair, pulling your head further back so that she had access to a fuller expanse of your neck. "Shit, Jo. Oh, oh, oh!" You were suddenly very glad that no one else was one this floor, because you didn't know about Jo, but sometimes you got pretty fuckin' mouthy. You felt Jo smile against your neck before letting a hand trail down to palm your breast. "Mmmm, yeah," you groaned when she tweaked your nipple through your bra. As good as what she was doing to your neck felt, you missed her mouth, so you tipped your head down and started kissing her again. Your tongue pushed against hers, and you felt bone deep satisfaction run through you at the simple act of making out with this girl. An indeterminate amount of time later (that was one of the many things you loved about girls, they were willing to make out for ages), you started to kiss a path down Jo's neck. She seemed just as partial to the act as you. And before long she was making breathy little whimpers that turned you on like nobody's business. So good, she sounded so good. When she started to throw your name into the mix, you started to get a little impatient, so you decided to pull off her top. Jo apparently approved of the action, because she immediately pulled yours off too. Ah, that felt good. You pulled her in for another long, deep kiss as you reveled in the feel of all of her newly exposed skin against yours.

Jo pulled back with a waggle of her eyebrows that was slightly undercut by her panting breaths. "Can I get you that drink you asked for, miss?"

"Hell yes." You stepped back a little to allow Jo to gather up the dropped ingredients and walk over to the bed. She set the tequila, limes, and salt on the bedside table and stretched out on the bed with sybaritic slowness. Holy hell. Her tanned skin practically glowed golden in the shitty low light of the room. Even against scratchy, dark brown sheets, she looked like decadence incarnate. You could not wait to get your tongue on her. You were so far gone, looking at her that you completely missed that she was looking at you in the same way.

You walked over to her and sat down on the bed. You pulled the salt shaker out of the bag she'd brought with her, along with a lime slice. "Been dying to do this since I saw you," you muttered before licking a line up her neck. You might have gotten slightly distracted by the feel of Jo underneath your mouth and taken a little bit too long. Maybe. Just a little. Jo might have had to clear her throat to get you going again. "Hush you," you responded in good humor, putting a lime slice in her mouth, and sprinkling salt onto the wet patch you'd sucked onto her skin. Now for the best part. You grabbed the tequila off the table, and poured a shot into Jo's navel. Not even bothering to put the bottle down, you immediately leaned in and sucked the golden alcohol out of her belly button. You felt the burn of room temperature tequila sliding down your throat as you licked the salt off of Jo's neck, trying desperately not to get distracted again and pulled the lime out of her mouth. Your face still scrunched up as the burst of sour hit your tongue. Jo laughed again.

"You really can't help that, huh?"

"It would seem not."

"You'll just have to try again," she winked, "Practice makes perfect."

"Uh-huh," you agreed, sprinkling some more salt on Jo's neck and pouring another shot into Jo's navel. This time you decided to forgo the lime entirely and simply kiss Jo at the end of the shot instead. You could feel the tequila start to loosen you up, and you didn't want to do too many more shots, because you sure as fuck wanted to remember this in the morning. So to get the night moving forward again, for the next shot you licked a line down Jo's cleavage and poured the salt there instead. When she didn't object, but instead arched up into your tongue, you slowly slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulder, trailing your fingers lightly along her delicate shoulders. She easily obliged your tap to the side of her ribcage, indicating that she needed to arch up so that you could undo the clasp of her bra. You reverently removed her bra, completely taken in by her lovely breasts. She had teardrop shaped breasts that were several shades paler than the rest of her body, and tipped with rosy pink nipples. You groaned out loud, and cupped them in your hands, your mouth immediately latching onto the pebbled tip of one nipple, all pretext of making the tequila shots more interesting forgotten. Jo seemed to have forgotten too; she was too busy fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

She let out a frustrated huff. "It feels weird doing this backwards."

You simply hmmed, not wiling to remove your lips from her breasts, where you were now pressing a plethora of little kisses. She'd figure it out. Although it seemed you were spot on with the whole inexperienced thing.

About a minute later, Jo finally got the clasp of your bra undone with a triumphant cry. She pulled it off your body quickly, clearly impatient after all that build up. You couldn't complain once Jo got her hands on your breasts. She palmed them slowly, testing out their weight in your hands. Oh yeah, this girl was definitely new. That was just fine. One of the upsides with girls who were new, at least new to being with other girls, was that they tended to enjoy exploring, so it was always a novel experience, and you often got touched in places or ways that more "experienced" partners tended to skip over in favor of "the good stuff". You kissed your way over to Jo's other nipple and sucked it into your mouth, while Jo continued to play with your breasts. Soon Jo's breathing started to get faster and she started to whimper again, once you found the way she liked to be touched (it seemed Jo enjoyed a little teeth). Right around that time, she started to focus in on your nipples, and you arched into her light, tentative touch. It didn't take long for her touch to start getting more confident, and soon you were whimpering right along with her. Just as your mind started to wander to what sounds you could get out of Jo if you slipped her pants off, without warning, Jo wrapped her legs around your hips and flipped you. You let out a startled yelp and Jo snickered.

"My turn," she whispered in a sultry voice, breath tickling your ear. She kissed her way slowly down your neck to your breasts and sucked a nipple into her mouth. You moaned and threaded your fingers into her hair. You had super sensitive nipples sometimes. It was one of those things that seemed to ebb and flow with your cycle, but apparently tonight you were on. Jo sucked harder, clearly enamored with the sounds you were making. You tugged at her hair and ground your hips up into her core. She whimpered, and as much as you were enjoying what she was doing, you wanted more of_ that_. Taking the reigns back, you bucked your hips up hard to unbalance her, and flipped her back to where she started, on her back looking up at you with those big doe eyes. Fuck. You couldn't help getting completely distracted and kissing her. God, she tasted so good. You wove your hands back into her sunshine hair and pressed your body into hers. Mmmm. The things this girl did to you. Just kissing her topless put you on cloud nine. You luxuriated there for quite a while, lazily kissing Jo, but eventually her needy mewling pulled your old desires back to the front. You pulled away, and sat up straight, astride Jo. You saw her eyes rake your body hungrily, and you knew she was totally on board with what was coming next. You crawled backwards to kneel at her feet, and leaned down, never taking your eyes off of Jo's blazing stare. You kissed a light line of kisses just above the waistband of Jo's jeans, before her needy whine had you changing gears drastically and yanking her zip and button down in one go. You all but ripped her pants off of her, before taking in the sight before you. Jo. Just Jo. Naked save for a small pair of sunny yellow panties. Laid out on the bed, tanned skin going slightly paler in the hidden places of her body that had never seen the sun's rays, pink tipped nipples shining wet from your mouth, the puffy lips of her pussy just barely visible beneath her thin cotton panties, she was quite simply the most gorgeous sight you'd ever seen. You went completely blank, only dimly aware that your mouth must be hanging open.

Jo ahem-ed and broke you out of your trance. Your eyes snapped back to her face to find her gaze amused. "You're beautiful," you said reverently.

Jo blushed and looked away, before snarking gently, "Yeah, well, I'm also horny. You wanna get on that? Or should I take care of-"

She started to snake her own hand down towards her panties, but before her hand could even reach the waistband, you leaned in an licked a long stripe up the center of her panties. Jo bucked her hips at the sensation, clearly surprised. You winked at her, smirking. "Put your hand back down Jo, I've got you." And you proceeded to take Jo apart piece by piece. You ran your fingers lightly up and down her toned thighs while you pressed kisses to Jo's cotton covered pussy. You wanted to get her beyond warmed up, you wanted her begging by the time you took her panties off. By the looks of it she wasn't far off, likely thanks to all the build up, Jo was already squirming. You started to throw in some short licks right around the area of Jo's clit. That got her. She let out a discontented huff and pushed her hips toward you. You smiled and pressed your tongue to the fabric again. "Fuck," Jo breathed out above you, "Fuck, please."

"There we go," you thought to yourself. You got the feeling that this wasn't a girl who was accustomed to begging, so her simple "please" spoke volumes. You immediately aquiesced, and hooked your fingers over the edge of her panties. You pulled them off slowly, savoring the view laid out before you. Jo looked delectable. Once you'd stripped her panties off, you kissed your way up her lean legs. Jo moaned and wound her fingers into your hair the minute it was in reach. Clearly wanting more, she started giving your hair impatient little tugs. Not one to keep a lover waiting, you followed Jo's restless lead and licked another long strip up her center, this time not hampered by fabric. Jo's reaction was immediate. She threw her head back and moaned your name loudly. Fuck. Yes. You wanted to hear that again. Remembering Jo's earlier penchant for biting, you tentatively nibbled along her outer lips. Jo arched and groaned encouragingly, so you did it again, this time more confidently. Yeah, she definitely liked that. You kept nibbling closer and closer to Jo's center until she was a wriggling, nonstop moaning mess. Once you reached the top edge over her inner lips, without warning you sucked Jo's clit into your mouth. Jo arched violently and shouted your name. Her hands clenched in your hair, and you could tell she was getting close. But you weren't quite done yet, you wanted to taste her more. She tasted _delicious_, salty and musky, and so sexy; you wanted to eat her out all night. So you licked your way down to her opening and started curling your tongue inside her, licking out her copious wetness. Far from the reaction you had expected, arousal backing down, some disappointed whimpers (she _had_ been so close when you pulled away), Jo absolutely lost her shit. She started pushing her hips towards you eagerly, trying to get more of your tongue inside her, and a litany of curses had joined your name in her moaning.

Jo couldn't believe how fucking _good_ this felt. Her stomach kept swooping as though she was on a roller coaster, her thighs kept shivering with pleasurable shocks, and your tongue felt like heaven on earth. When you started nibbling on her outer lips, Jo jolted, no one had ever thought to use her penchant for teeth _down there_. And then when you sucked her clit into you mouth, she swore she saw stars. Furthermore every time she looked down, she saw your gorgeous h/c hair threaded through her fingers, and the beautiful curving expanse of your bare back, leading down to your fuckhot jean clad ass (god, she wished you were naked too). On top of all that, you kept looking up at her, clearly loving what you were doing, and every single time you did Jo couldn't help but shudder at the feedback loop of _your_ pleasure feeding into _her_ pleasure, and back again. It wasn't long before that she lost track of exactly how loud she was getting, but she simply didn't have it in her to care. Then, just when she thought it couldn't get any better, just when she was about to come, you started to fuck her with your tongue. _ That_ was new for Jo. The idea that someone loved the taste of her so much, that they patently _had_ to go to the source to get more, that was just…well that was just the hottest, most flattering thing ever. Every inch of her felt wanted, and desired, and _amazing_. She started yelling your name, and obscenities, pulling your hair, wanting you deeper.

You meanwhile, wanted to fucking bottle the sounds that Jo was making. It was the best music you'd ever heard, and you wanted to play it again and again and again. You got lost in the feel, and the taste, and the smell, and the sound of Jo. She was everywhere, and you wanted it to never stop. But Jo was shaking all over, clearly dying for that last little push she didn't know she needed, and you didn't have it in you to deny her. So you reached up and rubbed a single finger gently over her clit. That was it. Jo let out the sexiest moan you'd ever heard, and seized up. If her earlier cries were music, her current moans were the most beautiful song you'd ever heard. Bringing Jo to completion with your name on her lips was spectacular. You looked up to find the visual was equally stunning. You lost yourself to the all encompassing sensory experience of Jo coming. At the barrage of input, you felt so out of it, it was almost as though you, yourself were coming. You were only able to lap Jo through the shocks of her clearly earth shattering orgasm by sheer mechanical instinct. Slowly you felt the shudders wracking Jo's body die down, and the post orgasm sensitivity set in. Not all girls got that, but it appeared Jo did. So you stopped licking her and shimmied up her body to look at her face. You carded your fingers through her hair, completely enraptured by her still blissed out visage. Her pouty lips were full and red, either from kissing you or coming you weren't sure, her eyes were glazed, and she had a flush of pink to her cheeks; you could have happily looked at her all day. Slowly you saw Jo register that you were beside her, and she leaned up for a kiss. You pushed your mouth gently against hers, pleased that she wasn't squeamish about her own taste. Because frankly, she was fucking delicious. As the kiss went on you felt Jo regain more and more lucidity, and soon she was taking over the kiss and pushing you onto your back.

She began to slowly kiss her way down your body. "That was amazing," she said in between kisses, "I mean really, fuck, really good."

You smiled down at her, feeling your own arousal start to ramp up as her indolent kisses trailed further and further south. "Glad to- mmmm- glad to please."

She grinned up at you, clearly pleased at your moan, as she reached the waist band of your jeans. In contrast to your impatient, hasty shedding of Jo's jeans, Jo unbuttoned the top of your jeans with agonizing slowness. She then pulled down the zip of your jeans with her teeth, while smoothing her hands up her torso. You looked down at her playful brown eyes and the sway of her arched back and couldn't help but let out a- "Fuck, Jo." Jo smiled, baring her teeth, and winked. Shit, she might be inexperienced, but she sure as fuck didn't look it right now. Once your zip was down she reached up and hooked her fingers into both your jeans and your panties, and pulled them off with agonizing slowness. You wiggled and arched up, arousal shooting up with the anticipation of having her mouth on you. Fuck you wanted it. You wanted it bad. Finally, your pants were off and you were just as naked as Jo. Fighting the urge to spread your legs in invitation (you had a feeling that might be a little too blatant for Jo), you let Jo take the lead…the slow…slow…lead. She. Was going. To kill you. She kissed her way all the way up one leg, only to reach your core, skip right over it, and start in on the other leg. It felt good, of course it felt good, with Jo nipping and licking her way to every sensitive spot you had, but your arousal was practically at a boiling point, and you felt as though you were going to combust if you didn't get some friction on your clit right away.

Just when you were milliseconds away from reaching down and touching yourself (self control be damned), Jo finally started to suck the outer lips of your pussy between her teeth. Yes. Your legs fell open, and you sighed in relief. Finally you had her mouth where you needed it. Thank. God. Jo continued to take her time exploring, but at least now you were getting some attention to your clit. You wriggled impatiently under Jo as she learned your topography. You had the feeling that even though she wasn't saying it, she was thinking the same thing she'd noted when she took off your bra, "It feels weird to do this backwards." But just as with everything else, Jo was a quick learner, and you could tell bit by bit, she was getting her feet under her. Soon she was pressing long licks from your core to your clit (one of your favorite things). You moaned appreciatively and let yourself get lost in sensation. An indeterminate amount of time later, something shocked you out of your floating cocoon of bliss. Moaning. It took you longer than you'd like to admit to realized that it wasn't coming from you. It was the vibrations against your mound that gave it away.

Jo was moaning.

Sure enough you looked down to find Jo moaning open mouthed against you, happier than a pig in mud, as she licked you. Fuck, that was hot. You couldn't help the responding dirty talk that poured out of your mouth at the realization, "Yeah, Jo. Lick me. You like that?" Jo's eyes flew open, and she looked up at you surprised. Maybe she hadn't realized she was moaning either. Just as you got worried that maybe you'd overstepped, Jo nodded and pressed a particularly firm lick to your nether regions. "Fuck yeah, that's it. So good at this. You're so good at this, Jo." Jo wriggled happily and started to lick you faster. "Mmmmh, so good Jo, just like that. Yeah, right there. RightThereRightThereRightThere-Fuck!" Your hips bucked, you could feel your orgasm fast approaching. Jo was concentrating her licks more on your clit now, and the sensation was driving you wild. "Shit, shit, Jo. You look so good. Oh my god, Jo please! Lick my clit, yeah, right there. Oh-oh my god, right there. Yeah, yeah- oh my god right- yes, god yes, please! I need, oh fuck, Jo! Mmmmph," You weren't even sure what you were saying anymore, but your moans were taking on a higher and higher pitch. Jo was working her tongue rapidly against your clit, punctuating her licks with long sucks. Fuck, it felt good. So good. The vibrations from her moans intensified the thing, and it felt like mere seconds before you were teetering on the edge of an orgasm. "Fuck! Fuck yeah, Jo! So close. God you feel so good Jo, so good. Gonna-"

It hit you like a freight train.

"Oh, _fuck_! JO!" You called her name out in a breathy scream, as you felt your pussy clench in orgasm. You felt the lazy pleasure that had been flowing through you rush up and engulf you. You arched against Jo's mouth and threw your head back, face contorting in pleasure. Yes. Yes. God, yes. You could feel a swooping sensation in your stomach, and were dimly aware that Jo was still licking you. Little by little you came back to yourself, and once Jo's tongue was too much for your sensitive pussy you pulled her up for a kiss. You made out slowly, and luxuriously, reveling in the feel of your body tangled up in hers. You weren't sure when your hand found it's way between Jo's legs, but you did know that Jo's pleasurable gasp said that she was overdue for round two. As you slipped a finger inside her, and Jo started moaning, you couldn't help but smile; looked like she was playing your song.


	8. Romantic evening- LestradeMolly

**Summary: **Greg is so excited for his date with Molly. He still can't quite believe she said yes, to be honest. All the more reason for Greg to do his damndest not to screw up now that he's got his chance with Molly.

He proceeds to screw up. Copiously.

**Warnings: **Rated Teen, no smut

The first time Lestrade took Molly out on a date, he managed to spill wine on her twice. On himself? Four times.

His original plan for the date had been to take Molly out to one of his favorite pubs. Dressed down and casual was where he was most comfortable. Gregory Lestrade in a divey pub was like a fish in water.

But the more he mulled it over, the more he decided that Molly deserved better. Much better. After all, hadn't she just gotten over Sherlock? With his bespoke suits, his posh accent, and his (by London standards) enormous apartment, if Molly was interested in him, she clearly had a taste for luxury.

No, a pub simply wouldn't do. Lestrade resolved to take Molly to the swankiest restaurant in town. There was an established restaurant that had been around for years and was _the place_ to go if you were in London. He looked up their website, and promptly clicked the link, excited to make the reservations. As an afterthought, he decided to look at the menu first, curious exactly what a place like this served.

"Never mind, then," he thought upon seeing that their appetizers _started_ at 20 pounds. 20 pounds! What were they putting in their "Lobster Bisque"? Gold? "Lobster bisque," he muttered to himself, "Chrissake, it's soup!"

New plan, he was taking Molly to the _second_ swankiest restaurant in town.

He looked up their menu.

He blinked at the screen. How was this one _more_ expensive?

Fine.

New-new plan then, he was taking Molly to the _third_ swankiest restaurant in town.

It went like this for hours, until he eventually landed on a restaurant menu that looked reasonable to him. Although he admitted, that his sense of what was reasonable was probably slightly skewed at present, given all of the ludicrously high priced menus he'd looked before the landed on Petersham Nurseries. He'd never heard of it before, but it was quite well reviewed, and if the prices were anything to go by, still plenty swanky. Besides, their website had a lot of flowers on it, which made him think of Molly. He placed the reservations, let Molly know where they were going, and settled back in his chair, content that he had done a good job.

When Molly showed up at his door, looking lovely in a yellow sundress, Greg was most definitely glad he'd picked the restaurant he had. He was also glad that he'd thought to check to dress code at the last minute, because it seemed that despite its prices, and Michelin star, this place was relatively dressed down. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. He was certainly more comfortable not having to wear a suit, but he wasn't sure what Molly would prefer. Luckily one of the first things she mentioned was how glad she was not to be wearing heels, so Greg figured that meant he was safe.

Once they got to the restaurant, Greg understood why the dress code was what it was, the restaurant was actually in and around a greenhouse. (Pretty ballsy to have that much outdoor seating at a London restaurant if you asked him.) But Molly lit up at the sight of all the flowers, and they were seated inside the greenhouse, so Lestrade let go of any fears he had about dinner being called on account of rain.

The first half of dinner went swimmingly. It was easy to talk to Molly, the food was delicious, and he didn't seem to be making any egregious etiquette faux pas. The first disaster came when Molly said she needed to run to the little girl's room. Greg stood up to pull her chair out for her, forgetting that their next course along with the wine pairings was on its way. He had the bad fortune to stand up right as their waiter was coming by with a tray. His shoulder bumped right into the tray, and before he knew what was happening, there was Zinfandel all over his shirt. The next few minutes was an apology contest between himself and the waiter, both convinced that they were at fault for the mishap.

The second spill was the only one that Greg firmly believed was not his fault. Because what the hell kind of restaurant with 25 pound mains, let people bring their dogs with them? There was absolutely no way he could have been expected to know that looking out for dogs was something he needed to do on his way to the restroom to take care of the Zinfandel on his shirt. However, when he tripped over a family's border collie and wound up falling against their table and getting Merlot all over his pants, that was exactly what they seemed to expect of him. Barely able to control his seething rage at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, he apologized to the family (for Molly's sake) and continued on his way to the restroom, intently watching his feet, on the lookout for more dogs.

The third spill was the first one that also involved Molly. On his way back from the restroom, he saw a lovely thatch of daisies. The sunny yellow middle made him think of Molly's dress. "Well," he reasoned, "If people can bring their dogs, then certainly this place won't mind if I pick one measly little flower." Driven by the thought of Molly's delighted face, Greg took his time, and plucked the fullest daisy he could find, and started back to Molly. When he reached her, and handed her the flower with a simple, "Made me think of you." Molly did indeed look delighted. Just at that moment, their replacement Zinfandels arrived. Seeing as he was standing between the waiter and Molly, Greg held out his hand for the wine glass. He'd simply hand Molly hers before sitting down, it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. Unfortunately, just as he took the glass from the waiter, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Years on the force had made him a little jumpy about people sneaking up behind him, so when Greg jerked in surprise, he also dropped the wine glass. Right onto Molly. Fuck. He was in the middle of apologizing to Molly, ignoring the new splash of Zinfandel on his knee, when the same person tapped him on the shoulder again. He spun around, trying desperately to keep his voice even. "Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you? Other than not dropping your wine glasses."

To her credit, the woman behind him smiled politely. "Sir, with all due respect, we ask that you not pick flowers from our greenhouse," she said quietly, clearly not wanting a scene.

Greg's shoulders sagged. A part of him was angry at the seemingly contradictory rules of this place, but a far larger part simply felt as though he had let Molly down. "I understand. Would you like me to pay for a replacement daisy?"

The woman smiled warmly this time, clearly pleased with his contrite response. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Just don't do it again."

"Absolutely." She walked away and he turned back to focus on the wine situation again, only to find Molly standing.

"Greg, I think we should go," she said firmly.

Lestrade tried not to let his shoulders sag any lower. He'd blown it. His one chance with Molly, and he'd utterly botched it. "Yeah, of course. I'll take you home. Sorry, if I've embarrassed you with all this," he gestured vaguely.

Molly reached out to him immediately, putting her hands on his chest. "Oh no, Greg. I- I think you've misunderstood me. I meant that I don't think this place is right for either of us."

"What do you mean Molly? You fit right in here. You look beautiful," he said sincerely. "And you haven't spilled a single glass of wine all night."

Molly smiled and grabbed a glass of wine off a passing waiter's tray. Pinot Noir, the last glass of the night. Molly promptly poured it on herself (splashing a little on him in the process). "Better?" Molly asked, smirking. Greg didn't know what had happened to Molly over the past couple of months, but whatever it was, he liked it. At Greg's slow nod, Molly grabbed the daisy he'd given her off the table, stuck it in her hair, and took his hand in hers. "I don't think that either of us fit the dress code anymore, do you?"

"Definitely not," Lestrade replied, stunned.

"Then let's go."

Greg threw enough money down on the table to cover their bill and handsomely tip their long-suffering waiter, and marched out the door in tow of a recently emboldened Molly Hooper. He was in love.


	9. First time- SamJess

**Summary: **On a road trip to hunt Wendigos, Charlie informs Sam that Carver Edlund went a little more in depth into Sam's sex life than perhaps Sam would have liked.

In amongst Charlie cajoling him to listen to the books (now on audiobook), talk to his brother, and generally deal with his fucking feelings, Sam recalls his first time with Jess.

**Warnings: **angst and smut, writing this one made me cry

"You have to promise not to tell Dean."

"Why? I think-"

"Promise me, Charlie."

"C'mon, it's sweet. I mean, yeah, maybe a bit overshare to tell your brother something like that, but what if-"

"No. I mean it, Charlie. Don't tell him."

"Yeah, but what if-"

Sam shot her a royal bitch face. "No. I don't care, 'What if.' I don't care if you bring it up, or he does, or, or someone else does. Do not say anything."

"Okay, fine. My lips are sealed," Charlie replied lightly before miming zipping her lips and throwing away the key. Sam sighed in relief, that could have been awkward.

Charlie managed to be quiet for a full minute before a rush of speech burst out of her, "Okay, but what if like, someone was torturing me for the information, like full on Zero Dark Thirty, and Dean was in the room, and I _had_ to say something, could I-"

"Why, Charlie? Why would someone try to get you to tell them something they could read in a _published book_?"

"Because bad guys are lazy sometimes. Really a lot of the time, in Lord of the Rings, Sauron-"

"No, Charlie! I don't care what anyone does or says, you _cannot_ let my brother know that I was a virgin until I was twenty one!"

There was another pregnant pause before Charlie added, "I mean technically you were twenty, Edlund's book makes it pretty clear that it happened _before_ midnight leading into your birthday."

"God, Charlie, cut it out! It's weird enough knowing that a bunch of strangers read about my first time with Jess, much less people I know."

"Sorry," Charlie replied quietly.

Feeling guilty at Charlie's cowed tone, Sam sighed. "Why is this so important to you, anyways?"

Charlie shrugged, "I guess it's more that, it seems like, there are huge parts of your lives you and Dean don't talk about. I thought it might be, you know, cathartic. I mean not to get all, like up in your space or anything, but it might even do you guys some good to read the books." When Sam didn't answer, Charlie pressed on, getting excited, "I mean they're on audiobooks now too. I've got the first one in my bag we could-" she started to reach back towards her backpack but Sam cut her off.

"Thanks, Charlie. Not now. I'll think about it." He really would. I mean it was pretty creepy. All of his and Dean's experiences with the books had not been good ones. And if there were secrets like what he and Charlie were discussing in there about Dean, Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know. On the other hand, he and Dean kept running into situations where people told them important information that they claimed to have garnered from Edlund's books. So maybe reading the books would be helpful simply for job related reasons. And maybe Charlie was right; maybe he and Dean would be better off getting at least some of their hidden stuff on the table. Maybe a little. Maybe he could ask Charlie for a synopsis. Although that kind of seemed like a dangerous can of worms to open.

Sam was so deep in thought, he barely caught Charlie's question. "So why is this the thing you're going all 'one ring' on?"

"One ring?"

"You know, 'Keep it secret. Keep it safe.' I mean there's loads of stuff in the books that are no offense, I mean totally justified and everything, but way worse than this that you didn't keep secret. I mean you went pretty in depth talking about Ruby, why not Jess?"

"Jess was-" Sam still had trouble talking about her, so he cut himself off. "Jess is not the reason I'm keeping this from Dean." It was partially true.

"Then why-"

"Look Charlie, you didn't grow up in my family. Besides Dean would never let me hear the end of it. Can you imagine how many jokes he'd make?"

"Yeah, I guess Dean-"

Sam was on a roll now, "And I guarantee he'd start pushing me towards just about any girls we saw, talking about 'making up for lost time' and shit. I understand your whole idea about getting Dean and me to talk, but believe me, this is not the place to start."

"Whatever you say, Sam. I promise I won't tell, cross my heart and hope very much not to die on this hunt," Charlie sounded well and truly deterred now, but Sam knew she was likely going try the same tack with Dean once they all got back to the bunker. "What are we hunting again?" Charlie asked pulling out her tablet, and changing the subject.

"A Wendigo," Sam replied, and proceeded to swap creature information with Charlie for the next hour.

Once they'd exhausted the subject of Wendigoes, Charlie asked if Sam minded her taking a nap. He said of course he didn't, and that he'd wake her when they got to the motel. Sam didn't blame her, it was almost 2:00 AM; if they weren't so close to their destination, he'd be tempted to stop for the night. But they should be there in the next two hours. As Sam drove on, the silence started to make him antsy. He had gotten used to always having something playing in the car when he and Dean weren't talking. He and Charlie were currently in a renter car, a pretty shitty one at that, so plugging in his iPod was a no-go. He didn't know any of the local radio stations, and he worried that the static he'd have to flip through to find them would wake Charlie. He felt the audiobooks calling his name. One of Sam's either downfalls (or strengths, depending on the situation) was his intense curiosity. And boy was he curious right now. He could feel it inside him, that almost palpable itch he got when there was some piece of information he really wanted to know. He glanced over at Charlie, she was out cold, snoring softly. Fuck it. He made the snap decision that he was going to listen to the stupid things, consequences be damned. He felt around behind his seat in Charlie's open backpack until he felt a paper box that he suspected were the audio CDs. He hoped they were CDs, that was the only kind of player this car had. He pulled them out and luckily enough, they were. He popped the first one in, making sure to keep the volume low, and started to listen.

Turned out the one he'd grabbed wasn't the first book in the series, from the sounds of it, it was at least the third or fourth. A fact that he became very thankful for when the exact scene that he and Charlie had been talking about earlier came up. (Sam knew for certain that Dean had read the first book, and only the first book, which hadn't revealed much about Sam that Dean hadn't already known. The primary exception as far as Sam was aware, had been that Dean hadn't known that Sam had been considered smart even among the Stanford lot; Dean had teased him good naturedly about that for a couple weeks. Sam suspected that there had been a few less tease-able revelations in the book, but nothing groundbreaking based on the way that Dean had reacted.) Bottom line Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn't read this book, which was hopefully the only book in which Edlund went in depth into his first time with Jess (somehow finagled into the book as a flashback).

_"Hey birthday boy," Jess murmured seductively as Sam opened the door to his narrow dorm room. Sam quickly moved his giant frame out of the doorway to let his girlfriend through._

Sam remembered that. She'd showed up in a soft pink sweater that he'd always loved on her. Jess had always worn so much pink.

_"So, I thought we'd get the festivities started early. After all twenty one is a pretty big birthday," the buxom blonde said as she sauntered through the doorway, and held out a bottle of wine. Sam took it, and smiled fondly. _

_"Thanks, Jess," he replied._

Sam remembered that too. Alcohol wasn't exactly new to him, he'd been drinking since his early teens; John had never been much of a stickler for rules that he hadn't made himself. But despite the fact that he'd been drinking long before his twenty first birthday, the idea that Jess had wanted to celebrate his first 'legal' drink with him had been sweet. She had been sweet.

_"No problem at all," she answered brightly. Jess then pulled a white plastic corkscrew out of her pocket and handed it to Sam. "Finest corkscrew at the dollar store. It's the second half of your gift. And don't be expecting anything else. I've got loans, unlike some people." _

_Sam grinned, feeling more carefree than he could ever recall feeling at home._

Ouch. Yeah, Dean should definitely not read this particular book. I mean the hunting life didn't exactly lend itself to being 'carefree', and his year and a half with Jess at Stanford had been the happiest of his life, but he knew what Dean would hear. If he heard that sentence, he would hear the same thing he felt when he had seen Sam's heaven: that he wasn't enough. But that wasn't true. It was just Dean's bad luck that all of Sam's memories of him, good or bad, were tangled up and run through with thoughts of the shitty lives they lived as hunters. It was something Sam could never uncouple like his Dean could. For Sam it was always, Dean and Hunting. Hand in hand. Always.

B_ut Sam didn't want to dwell on memories of his dark past. No, he wanted to stay with his girlfriend. He wanted to drink wine, and love her, and have all the things his father said he never could. Looking at her now, he could see the promise of everything he wanted._

_"I love you," Sam said, his bright hazel eyes sincere._

_"Yeah, yeah, just open the bottle, you big sap," Jess responded jokingly. _

Jess always had been the more lighthearted of the two of them. It was part of what he'd loved about her. Coming out of the hunting lifestyle, completely cut off from his father, and only receiving calls from his brother whenever Dean could sneak away from John, Sam had been prone to intense seriousness and melancholy. Jess had personified the very opposite of so much of what he had been feeling. She was so light, and happy, and carefree. And she had loved him.

They had fallen for one another quickly. Sam still swore, despite his level-headedness in most matters, that he had loved her on first sight. Jess had taken slightly longer than that, but by the time this story had taken place, only three months into their relationship, she was in love with him as well.

_"Jess, really I mean it," Sam insisted. He set the green bottle of cornerstore wine down on the table, and pulled her in close. "I love you," he said, as he cupped one large hand along her jaw, the other wrapping around her slim waist._

_"So serious, Samuel," the blonde teased. She looked up at him, her sunny smile still in place, until she noted the solemn set of Sam's eyes and sobered. "I love you too, Sam," she murmured, with genuine affection. She leaned up and kissed him with a gentleness that no one, save for her, had ever shown him. "Really and truly," she said, and kissed him again._

Really and truly. She had always said that to him. He had never gotten tired of it, the way she said "I love you," and added that on. It had always sounded so sincere, had lent her declaration of love the mantle of seriousness that Sam always felt it deserved. He had never come up with an appropriate response, something he could say that would do the same thing for his "I love you"s. But Jess had always said he didn't need to, had said that anyone who looked in his eyes could tell how heartfelt his declaration was.

"I love you, Sam. Really and truly." What he wouldn't give to hear that again.

_Sam clutched Jess to him as though his hands alone could prevent her from ever being taken from him. In a little over a year, he would find out how untrue this was. But for now, he was lost to the kisses of the woman he loved. In a short few hours, he would love her more tangibly than he had ever loved anyone before. Despite years of backslapping locker talk with his older brother, Dean, Sam had never gone to bed with any of his previous girlfriends. Sam had wanted to have a deep connection with the first person he was intimate with, something that was not possible with the constant moving afforded by a life hunting monsters. So he had lied, and exaggerated, and twisted the truth, to give the impression of having done more than he had. His brother never knew that Sam remained a virgin until the eve of his twenty first birthday. And as he and Dean pulled up to the terminal, hoping to find some sign of their father on this hunt, Sam prayed that he never would. _

And the book was back on track, talking about Sam and Dean's investigation of the airplane crashes. Well, at least Chuck hadn't gone into detail about Sam's first time, that was a relief. Although Sam didn't want to think about the fact that he had almost certainly seen it. As the CD continued playing, Sam's mind drifted back to his first night with Jess. She had known she was his first, and as far as Sam could tell had never judged him for it. He did pretty alright for his first time, years of Dean Winchester feeding sex tips to you (whether you wanted him to or not) _had_ to be worth something. Although the most useful tip Dean had given him (really you could almost call it a mantra with the number of times he repeated it) was also the most simple: the girl always comes first. Dean had practically drilled that into his head. Always make the girl come first. Always.

"If you come first, you're gonna be hella tired, and she's gonna get worried that she's not gonna get to come at all," Dean always said, "Save yourself the headache, just get her off first. Because if I ever hear that you left a girl hanging, I will kill you myself. Hey look at me, don't roll your eyes. Dead. You understand me? Now it's the Winchester name on the line here, you fuck it up, looks bad on all of us. Say it back to me. Who comes first? That's right, she does."

Over and over and over, Sam lost how many times he'd had the above conversation with Dean. He'd talked to Sam about it so much, that Sam had started to assume that making the girl come first was standard practice. A notion he had been firmly disabused of the minute he hit college. All of a sudden he understood just how _un_common Dean's philosophy was. Once he knew that, Sam had never stopped trying to puzzle out exactly how Dean had formed such a strong and singular mantra about sex at such a young age. As far as Sam could tell it hadn't come from their father, pop culture of any sort, or even from the internet (which there had been a dearth of growing up). The best Sam could ever figure, it had come from Dean himself, sprung from his desire to take care of everyone that he encountered to the best of his ability. Over the years Sam had drifted further and further away from the particular brand of love making that Dean had taught him growing up, but that one piece of advice had always stuck with him. To this day, Sam always made the girl come as though the honor of his family was riding on it. His first time with Jess had been no exception. Schooled in nothing but Dean's instructions and his own adolescent fumbles, Sam went into his first time completely dead set on making sure that making sure that Jess got hers.

Jess had been both surprised and elated when Sam dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed, obviously eager to eat her out _before_ having sex with her. She said she had never been with anyone so focused on her pleasure, much less on their first time out of the gate. Sam had loved going down on Jess, and with instructions from a very real Jess and an imaginary Dean, he had passed muster, and however clumsily, gotten Jess to come. Even now he felt a small surge of pride remembering the way she had gasped his name. At the time, he thought it was the best thing he'd ever done (full ride to Stanford included). To be honest, there was a part of him that _still_ thought that.

He remembered a lot about his first time with Jess. He remembered how soft her skin was, that she smelled like sugar and cinnamon, and something a little more earthy. He remembered what she sounded like when she came, when he kissed her, when he first pushed inside her. He remembered what his first time inside her wet heat had felt like, how it felt like he was going to come on his first thrust (only thoughts of Bobby in a g-string had willed that away). He remembered so much about just_ being_ with Jess that first time. But the thing that kept coming back to him, the thing that was always at the forefront of his mind when he thought about losing his virginity to Jess, was the feeling of acceptance. Despite the huge chunks of his life that Jess had never known about, Sam had never felt more unconditionally accepted than when he was in her arms. The first time he joined with her, was the first time he had felt whole.

"Sam, are you crying?"

Sam jumped, startled by Charlie's voice. He had forgotten she was in the car.

"Are you listening to the books?" she asked in a more excited tone, before bringing it back down. "I-sorry-I get carried away. Are you okay?"

Sam was still on the first question. He reached up and dabbed a finger to his cheek. He was crying. He hadn't noticed. Quickly he sniffed, and wiped his eyes against his sleeves. "Yeah, Charlie. I'm fine. Just-uh remembering some stuff."

Charlie stopped to listen to the book for a moment. "Oh you're on the plane one! I love the part where you-"

Sam sniffled, he couldn't seem to stop crying. Charlie laid a hand on his arm and he jumped again.

Before Charlie could ask anything, Sam cut in, "I'm fine. I'm fine. Really."

Undeterred, and clearly possessed of a very good memory of Chuck's books, Charlie asked softly, "Sam-I…what was Jess like?"

Sam nodded, and glanced over at Charlie. "She was great. She was great. I-" he choked up again. He didn't seem able to stop. Charlie waited, more quiet than he could ever recall her being. "I loved her so much." Sam didn't know where to go next, both metaphorically and literally. He pulled the car over and they sat in silence for god knows how long. Finally Charlie broke the silence, seeing that Sam needed a little help.

"Was she more Wars or Trek?"

Sam choked out a mangled laugh, "Uh, she was actually a pretty big fan of Star Trek."

"Piccard or Kirk."

"Janeway, actually," Sam said smiling fondly at the memory of binge watching Voyager with Jess for three days straight after a particularly nasty set of finals their junior year.

"Respect," Charlie said solemly.

They were supposed to reach the motel by four, but it was well into the next morning by the time they got there. After the first break of talking about Jess, Sam had wound up telling Charlie stories he hadn't told in years until the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. That had snapped Sam out of the past, and gotten him back on the road. He guessed Charlie was right though, he had been in need of some catharsis. Sam knew he would never get Jess back and he could certainly never replace her, but as Charlie's lightheartedness slowly pulled Sam from crying to laughing, he thought that perhaps he could find people to help him in the same ways that she had. Jess had always tried to convince him to take better care of himself. Maybe now, over half a decade later, he would finally listen.


	10. Blindfolds- The MasterLucy Saxon

**Summary: **What Lucy Saxon loved most about Harold (Harry) Saxon, was the way he radiated power, no matter what he was doing. This ended up leading her into a dom/sub relationship with Harry.

This is a fic about their first time using a blindfold. It's also an oblique examination of why the Master should never, ever be given even a modicum of power.

**Warning: **dub-con-ish, mostly the Master is an a-hole who keeps pushing Lucy's boundaries, light BDSM, blindfolds

She still remembered the first time he'd allowed him to tie her up. Harold had always liked to be in control, and the bedroom was no exception to that. Seeing a visual representation of his power had been arousing. For both of them. So they'd done it again. And again. And again. Going further each time. The only thing that she was loathe to admit unnerved her sometimes, was a particular grin he would get when he would push her established boundaries. There was something manic about it that always made her wonder just how useful her safeword would really be should she ever need to use it.

Her dislike of that grin had lead to Lucy Saxon's first encounter with a blindfold (save for a single experience at a birthday party with a piñata when she was six, and that didn't really count). She'd asked Harry not to tie her up for their first time using it, and (much to her surprise) he'd acquiesced without complaint. Always one to be prepared, Lucy bought herself a set of racy black lingerie for the occasion. She'd groomed herself immaculately, and been waiting for Harry when he got home. Harry spent a great deal of time in simple black suits, a look she had always loved on him. So much of Harry, radiated power, and that was what got her hot and bothered. _That_ was what had her submitting to him every night (and more and more during the daytime too. Harry had started to dictate small things like her clothes, and what she ate. She wasn't particularly fond of this new development, but the sex had become so spectacular that she didn't want to rock the boat.)

The minute he was through the door Harry had her locked in a passionate embrace. By the time he pulled away, she was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Harry surveyed his wife's body, which was (human or not) intensely attractive. "Now what have we here," he said lowly, tracing a single finger along the cup of her bra, "Did you get me a present?"

"All for you, Harry."

He tapped her on the nose, lightly, "Ah-ah-ah, who am I to you right now?"

Lucy bowed her head, embarrassed that she had forgotten, "Master." He smiled like he was the only one in on a secret joke; Harry always seemed to like it a great deal when she called him that.

"Good girl," he said softly chucking her under the chin. The next thing she knew he had pulled her back in for a deep kiss. He shoved her up against the wall, and pulled her legs up around him. She could feel that he was already hard for her. Harry had an incredible sex drive, Lucy was almost certain they'd had sex more times than she'd had with all of her previous boyfriends combined. Still kissing her, he carried her back to their bedroom, where the blindfold was lying, waiting for her on the bed. She whimpered when he sat her down on the bed and picked up the blindfold. She felt a tingle of anticipation in her cunt and rubbed her legs together, something that Harry didn't miss. He dropped a hand down and palmed her pussy, "Is my little companion getting needy already?" Lucy nodded wordlessly, and spread her legs, his hand felt so good.

Harry smiled the same slightly manic smile she didn't want to see anymore, pinched her inner thigh a little harder than she would have liked and said, "Good. Wrists out."

Lucy faltered, "Oh, but, Harry, I thought we weren't going to do any ropes tonight. Remember?"

Harry looked confused, and knelt down in front of her, "I'm sorry, darling. I thought you trusted me, but we don't have to do this," he said placing the blindfold back on the bed. He took her face in his hands, "We don't have to do any of this, Lucy."

Lucy frowned. That wasn't what she wanted either. She looked at the blindfold longingly. She had been looking forward to this. I mean she did trust Harry. And he had tied her up before.

Harry caught her longing look at the blindfold, along with her confused hesitation. "Manipulating humans," the Master thought to himself, "It was like shooting fish in a barrel."

"C'mon, darling," he pressed, smoothly. "Just a little compromise." He swiftly pulled off his tie. "Here. I'll only bind your hands with my tie. Would that be alright?" he asked already slipping the noose over her wrists.

Lucy bit her lip, uncertain. I mean, she didn't want to be unfair. And his compromise sounded totally reasonable. By the time Harry cinched the tie tight around her wrists, Lucy was on board again. She nodded. "Okay, Harry. Just the tie."

"Uh-uh-uh," Harry tutted, wagging his finger, "Who am I?"

"The Master," Lucy replied, instantly dropped back into the game, and horny again.

"There's a girl." He picked up the blindfold off the bed, and without any ceremony, wrapped it around Lucy's head. She couldn't see a thing. It was way more disconcerting than she had expected. The heat radiating off Harry's body was the only thing that let her know where he was. But when he leaned and started kissing a line up her neck, Lucy suddenly saw the appeal. Losing her sight somehow intensified the feeling of Harry's kisses ten fold. She loudly moaned and leaned into Harry.

"Might have to get a gag next," Harry teased, slipping a finger into her mouth for her to suck on. Lucy always liked having something to suck on, it somehow grounded her. And Harry always said she looked best with something in her mouth. He unfortunately had to slip his finger out of her mouth to reach around and undo her bra. But moments later, with his finger back in her mouth, and his lips on her nipples, Lucy decided that it was definitely worth it. She moaned around his finger as he bit her nipple lightly and she tried to clutch at his hair, only to be reminded of her bound hands. Seemingly reminded of her bound hands as well, Harry maneuvered her to the middle of the bed, and stretched her arms up above her head, and tying her already bound wrists to the headboard. As much as this was pushing the boundaries of what she could handle, Lucy had to admit, that being securely bound to the headboard while Harry kissed his way down to the waistband of her knickers, was profoundly seductive. She moaned again, wishing there was some way for Harry to both have his fingers hooked into her underwear, pulling them off, and to have them inside her mouth so she had something to suck on.

"I know, I know," Harry soothed, pulling her knickers the rest of the way off. And then he rolled back onto his heels, and judging by the weight shift of the mattress, got off the bed. Lucy lay still for a moment, trying to be good. But the longer she laid there, completely naked, the more the hairs started to rise on the back of her neck. She didn't know where he was (Harry could be very quiet when he wanted to be). She started to worry. What if he'd walked off to mess with her, and something had happened? She tugged at her restraints. She couldn't move, couldn't get to the blindfold. What if people found her like this?

"Master?" she called out.

No response.

Now she was definitely scared. "Master, where are you?" She really, really didn't want to safeword, she wanted Harry to be proud of her. But what if something had happened to him? She tugged at her wrists again, trying to slip free. She decided to try one more time. "Master? Please, I'm scared," she finally admitted. It wasn't safewording, but it let him know how she was feeling. Suddenly she heard movement. She let out a rush of breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Soon she felt the bed dip, and next thing she knew she had a very naked Harry plastered to her front, kissing her with a hunger that she never tired of being on the receiving end of. She moaned loudly into the kiss, relieved to have him back. Although she decided that she was most certainly not doing this combination of bondage and blindfolding again.

Little did she know that she would. Again and again, manipulated by Harry, but always believing it was her choice. Sometimes she would enjoy it, sometimes she would not.

But that was in her future, for now, she was content to let herself live in the moment, now that she had Harry sure and solid against her. Already wet from all the anticipation of the day, knowing that she would be blindfolded in the evening, Harry slipped into her easily. He moved roughly inside her, clearly ferociously turned on. Lucy moaned at his obvious lust for her, and at the overwhelming sensations that were running through her body at being unable to see what Harry was going to do next. It wasn't long before she found herself on the edge of orgasm, panting into Harry's ear.

"Master! Master, please!"

"Come for me my sweet, sweet companion." She obeyed, her inner walls clenching and fluttering around Harry as she orgasmed.

Once it was over, she relaxed bonelessly into the pillows, and Harry followed behind her a handful of thrusts later. She felt him pull out at the last second and come all over her belly. She'd always loved that about him, his compulsion to mark her. She heard him sigh contentedly, and felt him languorously rub his come into her skin. A few lazy minutes later, he pulled her blindfold off, untied her wrists, and let her go get cleaned up. When she returned from the shower only five minutes later, Harry was already asleep. She walked back to the bed, and curled up next to him. She laid her head on his chest and fell asleep listening to the irregular beat of Harry's heart, the result of a one in trillion birth defect the doctors said. She had always liked it. It proved to her that even in his heart of hearts, Harold Saxon was entirely unique, that he was like no other man.

Lucy Saxon was wrong about a great many things, but on this account she was, unfortunately, utterly correct.


	11. No speaking- Gadreel-Reader

**Summary: **When you lose your voice due to a witch's curse Gadreel proceeds to prove that he is the most considerate angel in the garrison. Royally pissed off at Sam and Dean for letting you get hurt, he spends the entire evening taking care of you (his girlfriend) to make up for what has happened.

**Warnings: **none, this one is 100% fluff and smut

Fucking witches.

You hated fucking witches.

Of course now if you wanted to inform anyone of that particular opinion, you'd have to go through an elaborate series of charades to get your point across. Then again you'd been finding out just how versatile the middle finger could be. So…maybe not so elaborate. But charades none the less. You'd always hated charades.

So why couldn't you just talk about your deep and abiding hatred for witches? Well, yesterday you'd gotten hit with a curse from a witch while on a hunt with the boys. She'd been trying to keep her location secret, so she'd taken your voice away when you'd found her first, hoping that it would keep you from alerting the boys. Luckily for you, Dean and Sam had burst through the door only minutes later. After some very deft persuasion by way of the elder Winchester and a bowie knife, the witch had lifted the curse. However, unfortunately, she said that anything that messed with "bodily functions" tended to stick around for a couple days, so you were stuck voiceless until Tuesday (at the earliest).

You were currently pouting in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the bunker with the boys. At least you'd get some good water pressure soon. And some of your homemade tea, that should soothe the scratchy feeling you'd had in your throat all day. And Gadreel. Hopefully. He'd had a lot of stuff to deal with in heaven as of late, so he'd been in and out a bunch. Dean hadn't wanted to bring along a wildcard that he couldn't count on being there 24/7 ("I dunno man, sometimes you're there, sometimes you're not, it's like having original model Cas back all over again.") You had to admit, as much as you knew it was necessary, you weren't the fondest of Gadreel's constant unplanned disappearances. Especially considering your involvement over the past couple of weeks. Ever since Gadreel had gone good side, helped get Dean fixed up and heaven back in running order, he'd been staying at the bunker along with yourself and the boys (as for why you were there…whew, that was a long story. Suffice to say it involved a werewolf and a tackle box. Don't ask.) You and Gadreel had gotten along right off the bat. You loved how sincere he was, and enjoyed his penchant for philosophical debate. He was glad to have someone who was willing to talk to him about "the all encompassing mysteries of the universe," which was easy for you as you'd majored in Philosophy during the two years that you'd actually gone to college. He also seemed to trust you, calling you "true of heart." It also didn't hurt that you were the only one in the house who didn't have bad blood with him. Sam, Dean, and Cas were doing their damnedest to put everything behind them, but it was clearly very difficult for all of them. In fact, if Cas hadn't insisted that Gadreel needed a safe place to stay, and was very valuable from a tactical point of view, you were pretty sure the boys would have thrown Gadreel out in the cold. You were very glad they hadn't, because while you and Gadreel had started out as friends your relationship had morphed into more that of lovers.

Gadreel of course took the whole thing very seriously, calling you "soul of my soul," and his "light incomparable." Luckily he was quite content with the far more conventional pet names you'd given him. He was particularly taken with, "Honey." "The sweetness that never spoils, how clever," he'd responded when you'd called him that for the first time. You'd never thought of it that way before. And so you and Gadreel went, his intense solemnity and otherworldliness marrying well with your curiosity and easy compassion.

You had missed him.

Now that you thought about him again, you realized how much. You hoped he would be there when you got back to the bunker.

Luckily enough for you, he was. You found him sitting in the library with an enormous tome spread out in front of him. The moment he heard you come in, he stood up and walked over to you swiftly. He pulled you into his arms, and gently cupped the side of your face to tilt your head up for a kiss. It felt so good to be in his arms again. You never felt so safe as when you were with him. Your kiss went on longer than either of you had planned, and soon you heard a pair of throats clearing simultaneously. You pulled away regretfully, but tugged Gadreel's large hand into yours.

"Well, now that that's over," Dean deadpanned, "What's the low down up high?"

Gadreel took a minute to unpuzzle Dean's phrasing, but once you saw his face light up his face, he was off and running, "Rebuilding efforts are unfolding as they were organized. Metatron remains jailed, and unfortunately refuses to break his silence. And, most happily, many angels are using their newfound knowledge from their time with you, humans, to make heaven a better place." The efforts must really be going well, you'd never seen Gadreel look so happy after a trip back to heaven. He looked down at you questioningly, "And you? How was your hunt, my dearest one?"

You shot Dean and Sam a furious look that blatantly said, "You didn't tell him!?"

Dean held up his hands, "Hey, don't look at us, Sasquatch #2 there is the one who wouldn't pick up his phone."

Gadreel pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking at it curiously. "Dean, I am almost certain that this device will not work on the astral plane of heaven."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Einstein I suspect Nokia doesn't have a bunch of towers up in cloud city. When did you get back?"

"Only hours before you three did."

"Well, there you go. Next time hop down from your cloud every once in a while to check your messages, buddy."

"Why? Did something go amiss on your hunt? Would I have been of help at some point?"

Sam spoke up, for which you were thankful, you trusted him more than Dean to give the news of your mishap l in a less heart-attack-y way. "No, it's fine. Y/N just got hit with a curse." Nevermind then. Fuck you, Sam.

Gadreel's face morphed into one of acute concern. Dean tried to jump in, "Just a teeny tiny one. Barely there."

"The witch already lifted it," Sam added, seeing his mistake, but it was too little, too late. Gadreel was already turning to you and cupping your face in his hands, and looking you over as though he would be able to see some physical sign of what you'd been cursed with.

"Are you all right? Where are you hurt? What curse has been set on you?"

You let out a huff of air, the boys just had to phrase your accident in the most terrifyingly vague way possible didn't they? You shrugged and pressed your palm to your throat.

"You are unable to speak." Gadreel stated, catching on immediately. You put on a frustrated face and nodded. "How can this be reversed? I will kill the witch who has done this to you, if necessary."

"Already done, dude," Dean chimed in, "On both counts. Witch is dead, and the spell's been reversed. She-"

"Then why is she still unable to speak?" Gadreel demanded, rounding on Dean.

"Okay, chill. If you would just let me talk, I would tell you." Gadreel glared at Dean, but remained silent. "The curse has been lifted, Y/N just needs a couple of days to shake off the after effects. Witch said she'd be fine."

"The same witch who placed the curse on Y/N?"

"Uh-huh," Dean said warily, not sure where this was going.

"The same witch that you killed?"

"Yeah."

"Did it never occur to you, that the witch might be lying? That you might have killed the only chance of reversing Y/N's curse?" Okay, yeah. Gadreel was pissed. You'd never seen him like this before.

"Yeah, it did feather-brain. That's why I tortured the bitch to make sure she was telling the truth."

"Torture does not preclude lying, Dean Winchester. You of all humans should be aware of this fact." His voice was tight and low, and you could feel the tension in his body, which at some point had ended up between yourself and the boys. Gadreel was clearly royally pissed off and in full on protection mode.

Sam jumped in again, "Look, I was there. She was telling the truth. She showed us the book she got the spell from. It checked out. We would have performed it ourselves, but it required the caster to perform the counter curse. We were thorough Gadreel. I promise, Y/N's gonna be fine."

"Besides," Dean added, "Y/N was there with us. If she thought there was any chance of the counter spell not being legit, don't you think she would have insisted we keep the witch alive?"

You finally saw Gadreel relax slightly. He turned back to look at you again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. "Is their assessment correct, Y/N? Do you trust that your voice shall be returned to you?"

You nodded. Really, you were. Sam was right, you guys had been thorough. Gadreel nodded once and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. Clearly this mishap had struck home for him. "I will accompany you on all future hunts, my light. I am sorry I was not with you on this one." You simply hugged him back. You guys were gonna have to talk about that overprotective streak later, but it was not something you wanted to bring up while you had no voice. Especially when you still got the feeling that Gadreel was slightly doubtful that you would get your voice back.

Obviously not knowing when enough was enough, Dean cleared his throat again. "So uh, how's the great commander doing?" (The three of you hadn't seen Cas in about a week, but that wasn't too unusual given how busy he was currently.)

"I will inform you of Castiel's doings tomorrow. Tonight I have no interest in any further debriefings." He pulled back from you slightly, and started walking you to the door, his arm around your waist, without sparing Dean a single backwards glance. "Your incompetence has cost Y/N dear, and I will spend the remainder of the evening catering to her in atonement for your sins, as I expect that you have given her nothing but greasy hamburgers and japes for her distress. Do not trouble us further." His tone on that final sentence brooked absolutely no argument. And even though you knew Dean hated not getting the last word in any argument, he didn't say a thing as Gadreel ushered you out of the library.

The both of you walked in silence up to your bedroom, which you now frequently shared with Gadreel. Once you were through the door, Gadreel turned to face you again, looking upset. "I am sorry for your mischance, my love," he said brushing a lock of hair out of your face. "Tonight I will share it with you." He reached up and touched his own throat. You saw golden light transfer from his fingertips into the center of his neck. The light glowed blue for a moment, and then faded. You immediately understood what he'd done. You reached up to caress his throat, looking up at him with gratefulness in your eyes. He really was one of the kindest beings you'd ever met. This would never have occurred to you as what you needed, but the moment he did it, you didn't feel so alone. You smiled at him and mouthed, thank you. Gadreel nodded slowly, with gravity, before leaning down to kiss you.

Gadreel's kisses were just as serious as everything else about him. When he kissed you, you felt the weight of his love. You kissed him back, melting into his embrace. You moved your hands down from his neck to his hoodie. You slowly unzipped it and pulled it off him. You wanted to feel closer to him. You molded yourself to his body, and stroked your hands up and down his strong arms. His hands, which were currently resting on your hips, came up to shrug you out of your jacket. Once that was done, you couldn't help but want his shirt off. You reached down and ran your thumbs along his stomach, just over the top of his jeans before sliding his t-shirt up his body. You felt his stomach move under your hands in a deep exhale, and you were sure if he'd had his voice that that would have been a groan. Once you reached the point where you weren't tall enough to pull his shirt further, he helpfully pulled away and curved over slightly so that you could get it the rest of the way off. When he was free of the shirt, you looked up to find him smiling down at you fondly. He then reached for the hem of your shirt and raised an eyebrow questioningly. You smiled and nodded. It seemed the expressiveness of Gadreel's face was going to come in very handy tonight. He immediately drew your shirt from your body, trailing his hands along you all the way up. He then wasted no time in divesting you of your bra. He looked down at your body with such hunger in his eyes, that you couldn't help but lean up to kiss him again. This time your kiss was far less, "I will love you forever," and far more, "Oh my god, you're hot. I need you right freaking now."

By the time Gadreel broke the kiss, you were both breathing heavily. Gadreel slowly sunk to his knees in front of you. For such a big guy, you were always impressed with the feline grace that he always seemed possessed of. Kneeling before you, hands on your hips, he looked up at you questioningly again. You nodded vigorously. He smiled at your enthusiasm, and began to tug both your panties and jeans off your body at the same time. You leaned your head back and tried to let out a moan, but were met with silence. Noting your distress at that fact, Gadreel soothed a hand up the middle of your body soothingly, and when you looked down, his face and mutual silence calmed you down again. You nodded, letting him know you were all right, and he proceeded to pull your clothes the rest of the way off. With you standing completely nude before him, Gadreel eyed you hungrily and ran his hands slowly over every piece of skin he could reach (which considering his long arms was practically everything). You loved how his hands felt, but at this point you were desperately turned on, and wanted so badly for him to start touching you where you needed it most. Usually at this point you would let out a whine to get Gadreel back on track, but given your current situation, that obviously wasn't possible. You would have to go the direct route. The next time that one of Gadreel's hands came up to play with one of your breasts, you pressed your own hand over top of it and guided it back down your body and between your legs. Gadreel looked up at you, clearly taken out of his reverie, and you put on your best pleading face, rubbing your thighs together around your joined hands. Gadreel's face morphed into one of acute need, and you were sure that would have been a moan if it weren't for your current predicament. He continued to look up at you as he used his free hand to hitch one of your legs up over his shoulder. You tried to let out another moan as you nodded, knowing where this was going. He continued to gauge your face for approval as he removed both your hands from your pussy, and hitched your other leg over his shoulder. His face was just inches away from you clit, you could feel his breath ghosting over it. "Please," you mouthed. Gadreel, still moving with deliberate slowness, looped his arms around the outsides of your thighs, hands coming to rest on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his pinkies almost spanning to your hips. You tried to wriggle your hips and mouthed "Please," again.

This time Gadreel fulfilled your request.

A split second later he had buried his entire face in your pussy. He was licking you with broad stripes, sucking up as much of your wetness as he could. Every time he moved, his nose rubbed along your clit, and you were sure you would have been fucking yelling Gadreel's name had you been able. Soon you realized something that turned you on even more. Without either yours, or Gadreel's moans to cover it up, you could very distinctly hear the wet sound of Gadreel's tongue fucking your pussy. Shit. That was amazing. You grabbed his hair and somehow tried to push your hips closer. His tongue felt so amazing, you wanted more. Just when you thought him tongue fucking you was the best anything could ever feel, he finally trailed his tongue up to your clit. Oh, oh, oh! Oh, that was good. So good. In the deafening silence you could hear the suck and slurp of his tongue as he worked it against you. Fuck, yes. He worked it faster and faster. You did't think you were going to last much longer. He tapped your hip to get your attention, and you looked down. _ohholyshitfuckyeah_ Gadreel looked good. His unclothed, broad shoulders were spreading your legs wide, and you could see the corded muscles of his forearms as they wrapped around your thighs. And his _face_. That angelic face was absolutely buried in your pussy. He gave you a particularly long lick so that you could see his tongue clearly against your clit. Fuck, yeah. Gadreel was honorable, sure. But never let that trick you into thinking that he also wasn't fucking dirty. He tapped your hip again, and this time you could see that he was only tapping you with four fingers. And then three. And then two. Oh hell, you realized at literally the last second, he was counting down. One. He sucked your clit into his mouth, blue eyes blazing up at you. And there was nothing you could do but come. Somehow the intense stillness of an almost quiet room, made your orgasm even stronger. You kept trying to cry out as you felt yourself contract again and again under Gadreel's tongue. Slowly your pleasure ebbed, and Gadreel let your legs fall from his shoulders one at a time, setting you gently back on your feet.

You weren't there long. Gadreel stood immediately afterwards and pulled you into a bridal carry. You snuggled against his bare chest feeling warm and happy. He set you down gingerly on the bed as though you were made of glass. You loved how he was treating you, but you could tell that, given your sleepy demeanor, Gadreel clearly thought you were done. You had to make it clear to him that that wasn't the case. Pushing the sleepiness out of your limbs you sat up and determinedly started undoing the button on Gadreel's jeans. He placed his hands over yours and looked down at you surprised. You knelt up on the bed, and pulled his face towards yours so that you could rest your foreheads together. It was something you and Gadreel did frequently after making love. You were trying to convey that you wanted to feel close to him. He clearly got the message, because he pulled back with his characteristically intense face on again, and mouthed the words "I love you." You nodded, feeling warmth flood your chest, and mouthed back, "I love you." Gadreel pulled you in for a slow kiss. And once again, the depth and breadth of his love was almost palpable. He laid you back down on the bed slowly and then stood to remove his pants. He pulled them off unhurriedly, his eyes never leaving your face. You couldn't say the same for yourself, as the moment his pants were off, you couldn't help your eyes scanning down. He was so beautiful. Perversely enough, he never looked more angelic to you than when he was nude. When your eyes returned to his face, you found Gadreel smirking. You rolled your eyes, and held your arms out to him. You wanted to feel him. Now.

He acquiesced, although at his own pace. In your restlessness, it felt like ages until his whole body came to rest against yours. You ran your hands all over Gadreel's body, glad to be able to touch him everywhere. He started to press little kisses all over your body. You tried tugging his hair to let your impatience be known, but Gadreel simply continued on, undisturbed. You tried arching into him, writhing your body needily, to let him know how much you wanted him inside you. But again, he took no note and sucked a line of kisses along your collarbone. Huffing in frustration at your sexily slow moving boyfriend, you reached down, and began to stroke his cock up and down. If _that_ didn't get your message across, _nothing_ would. He reached down and pulled your hand away gently, before looking up at you, clearly amused. "Patience," he mouthed. He said that word to you so often, you could practically hear it in your head as he mouthed it. You fucking hated it. Especially when he pulled it out in situations like this. Your pouting face must have looked hilarious, because he threw back his head with silent laughter. He looked up at you with twinkling eyes and nodded. You could barely make out that the word he was quietly murmuring to himself was, "Okay, okay." He pulled himself back up your body so that your hips were level, and leaned down to kiss you. While he did, you spread your legs eagerly. You'd missed the feel of him inside you so much. You'd missed the connection. You'd missed _him._ He pulled back and mouthed "I love you," again, before reaching down to align himself with your entrance. "I love you," you mouthed, looking up at him tenderly as he pushed inside you.

Oh! Oh, that felt wonderful. You were kissing again, and weren't sure when that happened, but everything felt warm, and you felt so full. You licked your way into his mouth, and wrapped your legs around his waist as he moved in and out of you slowly. You let out a soundless groan as Gadreel started to nibble at your ear. It was so cliche, especially given what Gadreel was, but having sex with him always made you feel as though you were floating on a cloud. Gadreel readjusted his knees, and that slight shift suddenly had him brushing along your g-spot with every thrust. You clutched at Gadreel's shoulders trying to communicate, "Good! Yes! Just like that!" He must have gotten the message, because keeping himself in the same alignment, he started to thrust inside you more quickly. You gasped and arched up into him, your hand clutching at his broad back. Hell, that felt good. You heard Gadreel groan in your ear. You could feel yourself approaching your second orgasm of the night.

"Come for me, Y/N," a deep voice rumbled in your ear.

Too far gone to think about the implications of being able to hear Gadreel again, you didn't try to muffle yourself when you came. "Gadreel!" you screamed, coming all over his cock. You moaned loudly as your orgasm carried on, and on, and on. Somewhere in the middle of it, you felt Gadreel spill inside you with a roar of your name. He continued to lazily thrust inside you, as you both slowly came down from your orgasms. Breathing heavily, Gadreel lifted his head from where it had been resting in the cradle of your neck, and laid his forehead against yours.

"Hey," you said, smiling up at him.

"Hey," he replied, gently.

Wait. Fuck. You could-he could-

"Hey both of you! Shut the fuck up in there! Some of us are trying to sleep!" You heard Dean's voice muffled by the wall between your bedrooms, as he pounded his fist on it.

"Congrats on your voice, Y/N," you heard Sam call from outside your door, likely having come by to more gently tell you what Dean already had.

You buried your face in Gadreel's chest, blushing; you were so embarrassed. Gadreel, apparently not suffering from the same mortification as you called back, "Your sentiments are much appreciated, Sam. Dean, we apologize for disturbing your sleep, it was not intentional." Clearly you having made a full recovery had made Gadreel far more kindly disposed to the boys.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't do it again," Dean called out. And it was hard to tell through the wall, but you were pretty sure you heard him muttering something about having to clean his ears out with bleach.

The Winchesters taken care of, you looked up at Gadreel curiously.

"Gadreel, why did your voice come back at the same time as mine?"

Gadreel looked down at you warmly, "I tied my loss of voice to yours. Mine would return when yours did."

"But you said it was just for tonight."

"I did not want to alarm you with with the implications of your curse lasting longer."

"But…you weren't even certain that my voice would _ever_ return. What if you were right?" You had felt fairly certain that you were going to be fine, but you could tell that Gadreel had been more dubious.

"Then I should have spent my days with you in silence," he said as though such an immense sacrifice was the obvious thing to do.

You looked up at him, feeling so intensely loved that for a moment you weren't sure what to say. Then it came to you. "You are a good man," you said trying to let your sincerity infuse every single word with certainty. You wanted Gadreel to not only believe that_ you_ meant it. You wanted him to believe that it was _true._ Given the emotion that crossed his face, you had at least succeeded in the first. Perhaps if you worked hard enough, you could convince him of the second. Perhaps you could make him see that there was nothing in heaven or earth more true, that an angel was somehow also the best man you knew.


	12. Sex Game- SherlockReader

**Summary: **Sherlock and you have had a difference of opinion. The only way to settle it is with a sex game, because of course. And that was how you wound up on the floor of the living room in 221B, with a bright purple vibrator inside of you, trying like hell not to come. Just another normal day with Sherlock.

There are two versions of this, the first chapter is with a female reader, the second is with a male reader.

**Warnings: **orgasm delay/denial, sex toys, dirty talk

**FEMALE READER**

"Oh, come now, Y/N. You're not going to give in that early are you?" Sherlock admonished.

"No talking. We agreed," you panted.

"You're clearly about to lose, it doesn't matter if I talk."

"Sherlock, _shut up!_" You and Sherlock were both currently siting on opposite sides of the living room of 221B, a light hearted tease having gotten wildly out of hand as things often did with Sherlock. You had just finished having sex, during which you had come no less than five times. Thoroughly sated, you had complimented Sherlock on the accomplishment. He had promptly waved away your praise, claiming that your high number of orgasms was simply due to the way your body was built. Despite the studies and facts he rattled off, the whole idea still didn't sound right to you. Based on the way that your friends talked about each of their lovers, skill seemed to change how much the girl orgasmed during sex quite a bit. Sherlock claimed that this was simply an illusion, that increased skill mattered greatly in the areas of foreplay and oral sex, and the increased skills in those areas would blur into the appearance of competency during penetrative sex being the cause of the orgasm. He also noted that this idea of foreplay skill influencing penetrative orgasms was even less applicable to you, as you orgasmed a great deal faster and more frequently than most females. Essentially, the foreplay was so far behind you by your third orgasm, that it was no longer pushing you forwards. You'd never had anyone before Sherlock, so you couldn't contradict him with your own first hand experience, but you still didn't agree that your high number of orgasms during sex with him was solely down to your make up.

So you hadn't backed down, and eventually it had devolved into this. You had a g-spot vibrator in your pussy; Sherlock had pulled up averages for women's time to completion via this particular model of vibrator on his phone (you did not want to know how he got those facts); and he was sitting across the room from you, fully clothed, and timing you. He had also promised not to try and influence you in anyway. No talking. No touching you. No touching himself. No taking his clothes off. Nothing. The goal was, to hold off your orgasm long enough to make it within one standard deviation of the average time. Which happened to be seven minutes.

If you made it to seven minutes, you were the winner. Your body was average when stimulated with a standardized toy, and Sherlock's skill was what made the difference.

If you did _not_ make it to seven minutes, Sherlock was the winner. Your body came more quickly and easily than other women's, and Sherlock's skills were not the root cause of your multiple orgasms.

It had been two minutes.

"Why? The game's already decided," Sherlock replied haughtily, his eyes scanning your body restlessly. Because of course _you_ were naked. Sherlock had said something about "being able to gauge your body's reaction," and preventing a "breach of contract." Whatever, like you could ever hide an orgasm from him, he just wanted to look at you naked.

"It is not," you gritted out, trying to shift a little, so maybe the vibrator wasn't hitting your g-spot so spot on. Much to your irritation the damn thing moved with you, staying in exactly the same spot. "Not decided," you added with determination. You could do this.

Sherlock clearly didn't believe so. "I know what you look like when you're getting close, Y/N. Stop being ridiculous, and just come already."

"You're breaching the contract, Sherlock." You hated to admit that you could feel light tremors start to shake through your body. Sherlock was right, that always started to happen just moments before you orgasmed.

"It's only been two minutes, Y/N. You cannot possibly expect to endure another five."

"It isn't over until the fat lady sings," you said, trying to think of anything but the intensely pleasurable vibrations running straight to your g-spot.

Sherlock sat back with a huff, and watched you imperiously for the next thirty seconds. The most difficult thirty seconds of your life. You didn't even just want to come anymore, you _needed_ to come. It felt like a physical necessity, like water or air. You felt warm all over, and your pussy felt so good, the vibrations felt amazing, and it was becoming more and more difficult to stop your mind from wandering to Sherlock doing sexy things to you. You couldn't keep your hips still any more, and when you started letting breathy little moans out, Sherlock's look turned smug.

"Oh, fuck you, this is hard," you replied in answer to his look.

"I know it is," he said evenly, glancing down at his phone, "Two minutes and thirty seconds."

"Left?" No way that had only been thirty seconds.

"That you have completed."

You groaned in frustration, and let your head fall back against the wall with a thump. He might be right. You still had four and a half minutes to go. That was nine more sets of the thirty seconds you'd just endured. Fuck. You did not want to lose to Sherlock. First of all, the fucker was always so smug when he won (which was more often than you'd like to admit). Second of all, you were fucking right about this, you really believed that skill was important during sex; how could you be losing when you were right? Finally, if you lost, you would have to do the dishes for a month. You hated doing the dishes. Stupid sexy Sherlock, with his stupid accurate sex facts.

Well you know what? If you couldn't win, you were at least taking Sherlock down with you.

You finally let go of all the things you'd been holding back. You let your hips roll, hitching up in desperation. You let out all the moans and filthy things you'd been keeping inside, so Sherlock could hear them loud and clear. You were careful only to do things that were genuine expressions of your arousal, if Sherlock caught on that this was meant for him, everything would go caput.

"Sherlock," you moaned needily.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, eyeing you warily.

"I-" you choked out another moan, "New strategy. You were-_mmm_- you were right. I was so close. Wasn't gonna make it-_oh god_-holding everything in. I'm trying-what if I-_yeah, fuck, fuck, yeah_- don't try and hold my reactions back. Maybe it'll be like a release valve?"

Sherlock said nothing for a moment, which indicated to you that he thought this strategy might actually help you. Good. "You still won't make it another four minutes fifteen seconds."

"Watch me," you said defiantly. Truly, at this point, you didn't think you would either. But that wasn't the point of this strategy.

For the next fifteen seconds you continued to moan Sherlock's name while you writhed and twisted, trying to keep your orgasm at bay. Sherlock always loved it when you moaned his name, and the next time you looked over at him, you could see beneath his cool mask, he was definitely getting turned on. You decided to amp it up a bit. You let your tightly held legs fall open, so that Sherlock could see the end of the bright purple vibrator poking out from between your folds. You heard Sherlock hiss, and saw him looking intently between your legs. He might be excellent at acting like he was made of stone, but he got turned on just like anybody else. He watched your wriggling hips with out moving for the next ten seconds, listened to your moans and curses without saying a word for a full ten seconds, didn't move an inch, didn't make a sound. Just when you were starting to think that maybe this wouldn't work, out of the corner of your eye you saw Sherlock's hand, almost unconsciously start to move towards his cock. Yes. You waited until he had his hand over his crotch and let him press down once, (he let out an absolutely sinful moan at that) before speaking up.

"Sherlock," you panted shaking your head. "You can't-_oh fuck_- you can't touch yourself. The rules."

Sherlock looked up at you like a child denied treats. Not willing to appear weak, he let his hand fall away, and pulled his knees up to his chest sulking. That was fine. He'd made the first move, you were gonna get him.

"You wanna touch me, Sherlock?" you teased. "Getting all- _ohgodyeah_- hot and bothered over there?"

"I'm not the one seconds away from coming on a piece of plastic," Sherlock replied coldly.

"You jealous Sherlock? Is that what this is- _oh my god! fuck!_- all about? You wish it was you- _oh-oh-oh-oh!_- fucking me?" You just had to hold out a little longer. Just a little longer.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll get to touch you again any minute now. Once you orgasm, which in the unlikely scenario that you win will take four minutes at the most. I can control myself until then, unlike some people," Sherlock taunted. Ooh, he was getting snarky, that was a good sign. Snark always meant you were getting too close for Sherlock's liking.

"But wouldn't you like to be the one to- _mmm, yes_- make me come?" He was in deep now, you didn't have to worry as much about being obvious.

Sherlock raised a sardonic eyebrow, "I believe I have done that a great deal already."

"But you like it. You -_oh shit, right there_- you love making me come, it's why you do it so -_ohohoh!_- much. I can tell you love - _mmmph Sherlock!_- love it when I come with your name on my lips."

"You're going to do that anyway."

"But what if I wasn't?" You stopped talking for a moment to let yourself devolve into a series of increasingly loud moans. You saw Sherlock's eyes scan your body hungrily. He was getting close, you just had to make it a little further. "What if I- _ohgod_ - was to come with someone else's name on my lips? We've talked before about- _yesyesyes!_ -fantasies being perfectly normal before. What if I- _ha-oh-ohmygod_ - wasn't thinking about you?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He always denied it, because it was irrational, but he had a strong possessive streak.

"You know I- _oooh_- used to have the biggest crush on- _ohmygod_ -John Stamos. He's not as sexy as you, but- _ohhell_ -maybe if I thought about him instead of you- _fuck, fuck, right there!_- I could last a little longer." Sherlock was full on glaring at you now, but what you were doing in no way violated the rules, and he clearly didn't want to let on that he was jealous, so he was forced to stay quiet as you started to cry out, "Oh fuck, John! Please, please, please, John I need it!" You knew exactly what you were doing. It wasn't nice, but you had to play dirty if you wanted to win against Sherlock. "Need your cock, oh fuck! Fuck, John, fuck me please!" You had half expected Sherlock to simply say, "I know what you're doing," and storm off, but clearly his emotions were clouding his judgement, because at your next call of, "John!" Sherlock was across the room and on top of you before you knew it. He pushed you roughly onto your back, and all but ripped open his fly. He tugged the vibrator out of you swiftly and tossed it against opposite the wall with vehemence. Wasting no time, he lined himself up and thrust in with a fierce growl of, "Mine."

You moaned and immediately wrapped your legs around Sherlock. Judging by how hard he was, you didn't think either of you were going to last long at all. "_My_ name," Sherlock demanded in the same almost feral voice.

"Sherlock!" you cried out obediently.

"Again," he said, fucking into you roughly.

"Oh god, Sherlock!"

"Yesssss," he hissed.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! I'm gonna-oh fuck!"

"Come for _me_," Sherlock said, biting your neck possessively.

You obeyed immediately. Your whole body arching up into his and shaking. You felt electric shocks buzz through your whole body as you came around Sherlock's cock. He felt so fucking amazing inside of you. You moaned and moaned, shouting his name over and over at the top of your lungs. Sherlock followed fairly soon after you, snarling, "Mine," into your neck.

Slowly you both came back to yourselves and Sherlock rolled off you to lie panting on the carpet. "That was cheating."

"I'm not the one who invalidated the test. I was well within the rules and you know it."

Sherlock stayed silent, you guessed that he was unhappy with his loss of control. You rolled over and laid your head on his chest. "All right, all right, I goaded you. Let's just leave it at I come a lot, but you're also very talented. Events can have more than one cause right?"

"I suppose," Sherlock said begrudgingly. "You should have to do at least two weeks of dishes though, seeing as I was clearly about to win."

You rolled your eyes. "How about this, I wash, you dry." Drying was always the less unpleasant part of dishwashing.

"For a month?"

"Two weeks," you said firmly.

"Three."

"Deal," you agreed. Life with Sherlock was always about compromise, and if you learned to do it right, sometimes it didn't even feel like a compromise at all.

**MALE READER**

"Oh, come now, Y/N. You're not going to give in that early are you?" Sherlock admonished.

"No talking. We agreed," you panted.

"You're clearly about to lose, it doesn't matter if I talk."

"Sherlock, _shut up_!" You and Sherlock were both currently siting on opposite sides of the living room of 221B, a light hearted tease having gotten wildly out of hand as things often did with Sherlock. You had just finished having sex, during which you had come no less than three times. Thoroughly sated, you had complimented Sherlock on the accomplishment. He had promptly waved away your praise, claiming that your high number of orgasms was simply due to the way your body was built. Despite the studies and facts he rattled off, the whole idea still didn't sound right to you. Based on the way that your friends talked about each of their lovers, skill seemed to change how much the man orgasmed during sex quite a bit. Sherlock claimed that this was simply an illusion, that increased skill mattered greatly in the areas of foreplay and oral sex, and the increased skills in those areas would blur into the appearance of competency during penetrative sex being the cause of the orgasm. He also noted that this idea of foreplay skill influencing penetrative orgasms was even less applicable to you, as you orgasmed a great deal faster and more frequently than most males. Essentially, the foreplay was so far behind you by your third orgasm, that it was no longer pushing you forwards. You'd never had anyone before Sherlock, so you couldn't contradict him with your own first hand experience, but you still didn't agree that your high number of orgasms during sex with him was solely down to your make up. I mean, you knew you had a shorter refractory time than most men, but that couldn't be the only cause. Could it?

So you hadn't backed down, and eventually it had devolved into this. You had a prostate vibrator in your ass; Sherlock had pulled up averages for men's time to completion via this particular model of vibrator on his phone (you did not want to know how he got those facts); and he was sitting across the room from you, fully clothed, and timing you. He had also promised not to try and influence you in anyway. No talking. No touching you. No touching himself. No taking his clothes off. Nothing. The goal was, to hold off your orgasm long enough to make it within one standard deviation of the average time. Which happened to be seven minutes.

If you made it to seven minutes, you were the winner. Your body was average when stimulated with a standardized toy, and Sherlock's skill was what made the difference.

If you did _not_ make it to seven minutes, Sherlock was the winner. Your body came more quickly and consecutively than other men's (Sherlock had made you come right before you started the test to factor in refractory time), therefore Sherlock's skills were not the root cause of your multiple orgasms.

It had been two minutes.

"Why? The game's already decided," Sherlock replied haughtily, his eyes scanning your body restlessly. Because of course you were naked. Sherlock had said something about "being able to gauge your body's reaction," and preventing a "breach of contract." Whatever, like you could ever hide an orgasm from him, he just wanted to look at you naked.

"It is not," you gritted out, trying to shift a little, so maybe the vibrator wasn't hitting your prostate so spot on. Much to your irritation the damn thing moved with you, staying in exactly the same spot. "Not decided," you added with determination. You could do this.

Sherlock clearly didn't believe so. "I know what you look like when you're getting close, Y/N. Stop being ridiculous, and just come already."

"You're breaching the contract, Sherlock." You hated to admit that you could feel light tremors start to shake through your body. Sherlock was right, that always started to happen just moments before you orgasmed.

"It's only been two minutes, Y/N. You cannot possibly expect to endure another five."

"It isn't over until the fat lady sings," you said, trying to think of anything but the intensely pleasurable vibrations running straight to your prostate.

Sherlock sat back with a huff, and watched you imperiously for the next thirty seconds. The most difficult thirty seconds of your life. You didn't even just want to come anymore, you _needed_ to come. It felt like a physical necessity, like water or air. You felt warm all over, and your body felt so good, and you were so fucking hard. The vibrations simply felt amazing, and it was becoming more and more difficult to stop your mind from wandering to Sherlock doing sexy things to you. You couldn't keep your hips still any more, and when you started letting breathy little sounds out, Sherlock's look turned smug.

"Oh, fuck you, this is hard," you replied in answer to his look.

"I know it is," he said evenly, glancing pointedly at your dick before looking at his phone, "Two minutes and thirty seconds."

"Left?" No way that had only been thirty seconds.

"That you have completed."

You groaned in frustration, and let your head fall back against the wall with a thump. He might be right. You still had four and a half minutes to go. That was nine more sets of the thirty seconds you'd just endured. Fuck. You did not want to lose to Sherlock. First of all, the fucker was always so smug when he won (which was more often than you'd like to admit). Second of all, you were fucking_ right_ about this, you _really_ believed that skill was important during sex; how could you be losing when you were right? Finally, if you lost, you would have to do the dishes for a month. You hated doing the dishes. Stupid sexy Sherlock, with his stupid accurate sex facts.

Well you know what? If you couldn't win, you were at least taking Sherlock down with you.

You finally let go of all the things you'd been holding back. You let your hips roll, hitching up in desperation. You let out all the moans and filthy things you'd been keeping inside, so Sherlock could hear them loud and clear. You were careful only to do things that were genuine expressions of your arousal, if Sherlock caught on that this was meant for him, everything would go caput.

"Sherlock," you groaned needily.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, eyeing you warily.

"I-" you choked out another moan, "New strategy. You were-_mmmm_- you were right. I was so close. Wasn't gonna make it-_oh god_-holding everything in. I'm trying-what if I-_yeah, fuck, fuck, yeah_- don't try and hold my reactions back. Maybe it'll be like a release valve?"

Sherlock said nothing for a moment, which indicated to you that he thought this strategy might actually help you. Good. "You still won't make it another four minutes fifteen seconds."

"Watch me," you said defiantly. Truly, at this point, you didn't think you would either. But that wasn't the point of this strategy.

For the next fifteen seconds you continued to moan Sherlock's name while you writhed and twisted, trying to keep your orgasm at bay. Sherlock always loved it when you moaned his name, and the next time you looked over at him, you could see beneath his cool mask, he was definitely getting turned on. You decided to amp it up a bit. You let your tightly held legs fall open and arched up a little, so that Sherlock could see the end of the bright purple vibrator poking out of your ass. You heard Sherlock hiss, and saw him looking intently between your legs. He might be excellent at acting like he was made of stone, but he got turned on just like anybody else. He watched your wriggling hips with out moving for the next ten seconds, listened to your moans and curses without saying a word for a full ten seconds, didn't move an inch, didn't make a sound. Just when you were starting to think that maybe this wouldn't work, out of the corner of your eye you saw Sherlock's hand, almost unconsciously start to move towards his cock. Yes. You waited until he had his hand over his crotch and let him press down once, (he let out an absolutely sinful moan at that) before speaking up.

"Sherlock," you panted shaking your head. "You can't-_oh fuck_- you can't touch yourself. The rules."

Sherlock looked up at you like a child denied treats. Not willing to appear weak, he let his hand fall away, and pulled his knees up to his chest sulking. That was fine. He'd made the first move, you were gonna get him.

"You wanna touch me, Sherlock?" you teased. "Getting all- _ohgodyeah_- hot and bothered over there?"

"I'm not the one seconds away from coming on a piece of plastic," Sherlock replied coldly.

"You jealous Sherlock? Is that what this is- _oh my god! fuck!_- all about? You wish it was you- _oh-oh-oh-oh!_- fucking me?" You just had to hold out a little longer. Just a little longer.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll get to touch you again any minute now. Once you orgasm, which in the unlikely scenario that you win will take four minutes at the most. I can control myself until then, unlike some people," Sherlock taunted. Ooh, he was getting snarky, that was a good sign. Snark always meant you were getting too close for Sherlock's liking.

"But wouldn't you like to be the one to- _mmm, yes_- make me come?" He was in deep now, you didn't have to worry as much about being obvious.

Sherlock raised a sardonic eyebrow, "I believe I have done that a great deal already."

"But you like it. You -_oh shit, right there_- you love making me come, it's why you do it so -_ohohoh!_- much. I can tell you love - _mmmph Sherlock!_- love it when I come with your name on my lips."

"You're going to do that anyway."

"But what if I wasn't?" You stopped talking for a moment to let yourself devolve into a series of increasingly loud moans. You saw Sherlock's eyes scan your body hungrily. He was getting close, you just had to make it a little further. "What if I-_ ohgod_ - was to come with someone else's name on my lips? We've talked before about-_ yesyesyes!_ -fantasies being perfectly normal before. What if I- _ha-oh-ohmygod_ - wasn't thinking about you?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He always denied it, because it was irrational, but he had a strong possessive streak.

"You know I- _oooh_- used to have the biggest crush on- _ohmygod_ -John Stamos. He's not as sexy as you, but- _ohhell_ -maybe if I thought about him instead of you- _fuck, fuck, right there!_- I could last a little longer." Sherlock was full on glaring at you now, but what you were doing in no way violated the rules, and he clearly didn't want to let on that he was jealous, so he was forced to stay quiet as you started to cry out, "Oh fuck, John! Please, please, please, John I need it!" You knew exactly what you were doing. It wasn't nice, but you had to play dirty if you wanted to win against Sherlock. "Need your cock, oh fuck! Fuck, John, fuck me please!" You had half expected Sherlock to simply say, "I know what you're doing," and storm off, but clearly his emotions were clouding his judgement, because at your next call of, "John!" Sherlock was across the room and on top of you before you knew it. He pushed you roughly onto your back, and all but ripped open his fly. He tugged the vibrator out of you swiftly and tossed it against opposite the wall with vehemence. Wasting no time, he slicked himself up, aligned himself with your already stretched hole, and thrust in with a fierce growl of, "Mine."

You yelled and immediately wrapped your legs around Sherlock. Judging by how hard he was, you didn't think either of you were going to last long at all. "_My_ name," Sherlock demanded in the same almost feral voice.

"Sherlock!" you cried out obediently.

"Again," he said, fucking into you roughly.

"Oh god, Sherlock!"

"Yesssss," he hissed.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! I'm gonna-oh fuck!"

"Come for _me_," Sherlock said, biting your neck possessively.

You obeyed immediately. Your whole body arching up into his and shaking. You felt electric shocks buzz through your whole body as you came around Sherlock's cock. He felt so fucking amazing inside of you. You moaned and moaned, shouting his name over and over at the top of your lungs. Sherlock followed fairly soon after you, snarling, "Mine," into your neck.

Slowly you both came back to yourselves and Sherlock rolled off you to lie panting on the carpet. "That was cheating."

"I'm not the one who invalidated the test. I was well within the rules and you know it."

Sherlock stayed silent, you guessed that he was unhappy with his loss of control. You rolled over and laid your head on his chest. "All right, all right, I goaded you. Let's just leave it at I come a lot, but you're also very talented. Events can have more than one cause right?"

"I suppose," Sherlock said begrudgingly. "You should have to do at least two weeks of dishes though, seeing as I was clearly about to win."

You rolled your eyes. "How about this, I wash, you dry." Drying was always the less unpleasant part of dishwashing.

"For a month?"

"Two weeks," you said firmly.

"Three."

"Deal," you agreed. Life with Sherlock was always about compromise, and if you learned to do it right, sometimes it didn't even feel like a compromise at all.


	13. Caught Masturbating- 10th Doctor- Reader

**Summary: **On a run-of-the-mill trip to your parent's house, the TARDIS overshoots by about a week, meaning they're now out of town. With nothing else to do, you immediately to turn around and head back to the TARDIS.

The Doctor was not expecting you back early.

Really, really not expecting you back.

(This fic got a bit away from me, and wound up having far more plot than I intended, but there is definitely still plenty of smut.)

**Warnings: **some embarrassment, other than that just a ton of angst and fluff and smut

You loved the TARDIS. You really did. But honestly the damn thing was more unreliable than a Ford at getting you to your destination on time. You stomped your boots through the snow angrily as you made your way back; you had really been looking forward to seeing your family. You were sure that the Doctor had really been looking forward to having some time on his own to work on the TARDIS. When you'd arrived at the door to your parent's house only to find it locked, you'd called them, only to learn that the TARDIS had overshot the day you were supposed to visit them by an entire week, so now they were on the road driving your brother back to college. Luckily this had happened before, so your parents weren't too terribly worried, but they had been relieved to hear from you all the same. Once you found out that you couldn't visit them, you'd thought about wandering around town for a little, just to give the doctor some time alone to take care of the TARDIS maintenance he'd stayed behind to do. But as you started to walk towards town, the wind had kicked up, and you realized that you weren't dressed for the thirty minute trek through the cold that it would take to get to town. Sighing you turned and headed back towards the TARDIS. Who knew, maybe you could just circle around and try again.

Only a few minutes later, you reached the deep blue of the TARDIS. You pulled open the door, suddenly feeling very glad to be home again. The warm lights, and familiar creak of her hinges, made you forget any ill will towards the machine. It now occurred to you that she might even be sick, because she didn't usually mess up mundane trips to your parents' house. She went to that time and place so often, that the Doctor said it was like making a trip to the corner store. You walked towards the control panel, looking around for the Doctor. When you didn't see him, you stopped to pat the TARDIS's central column fondly, "I'm sorry I thought bad things about you, old girl." Unfortunately, the Doctor's habit of talking to the TARDIS had very much started to rub off on you. Suddenly you heard a groan.

Oh shit, that sounded like the Doctor. You immediately started to walk towards the sound, trying to figure out where it was coming from. You heard another groan, this one louder. You broke out into a run, you really hoped he wasn't hurt. You were about to call out to him, when you heard your name thrown into the mix, and the way he said it was just off enough, that you stayed quiet. You were still running towards the Doctor's groans, and were fairly worried, so you didn't exactly have a ton of brain space to analyze exactly _why_ his groans were starting to sound more and more "off" to you the longer you listened. Some part of you just knew that you should stay quiet. It was only when you were halfway down the hallway leading to his bedroom that everything fell into place. You stopped dead in your tracks. Those were not groans of pain. You heard your name called again…along with another name? Another name you knew you'd never heard before that somehow sounded _so_ familiar. You couldn't stop to ponder the strange name, because the Doctor had just groaned yours again, and next thing you knew your feet had instinctively started walking towards the sound. Your brain was whirring, trying to process the idea of the Doctor masturbating. _And_ he was calling your name. He was calling your name while he- you stopped just outside his door. His _open_ door. When had you walked here?

You couldn't help yourself, you looked in, and saw one of the hottest things you'd ever seen. The Doctor was completely naked, head thrown back, and hand wrapped around his cock. Your brain completely shut down at the sight. There was simply too much to take in. His long lean body, laid out on the bed; his face, completely blissed out, mouth open, eyes shut; his perpetually mussed mane, which had reached epic sex hair proportions; his long spindly fingers, fingers you thought of far to much, which were stroking his cock up and down, up and down, up and down… You didn't even realize you'd made a sound until the Doctor's head shot up to look at you, frozen like a deer, standing in the doorway.

For one sustained moment, neither of you so much as blinked.

"My uh- my parents weren't home," you said. Like an idiot.

"Oh, really?" the Doctor asked, not moving an inch, just as frozen as you.

"Yeah, yeah. TARDIS overshot again. They're taking my brother back to school."

"Good, good. No, not good," he said shaking his head. "Sorry," he said scrunching up his face, "I've got my penis in my hand."

"Yeah, you have." What else did one say to that?

You and the Doctor both nodded awkwardly at one another for a minute.

"Could you- uh."

Oh god, yeah. Leave, you should leave. "Leave?" you supplied, still not moving.

"Yep. Yeah, that would be-yeah."

Finally regaining control of your limbs, you immediately turned and walked away from the mutually embarrassing scene. You only got a few steps before you remembered something, and turned right around again. "Wait, hold up, no," you said walking back into the doorway. The doctor had finally managed to remove his hand from his penis, and now had both hands pressed over his face. When he heard your voice, he popped his head up, surprised… again. "You said my name," you stated.

"Your name," the Doctor repeated, sounding strangely serious.

"Why were you saying my name?" You wanted an answer to this. The Doctor had made it seem to you as though he was entirely asexual, in fact you had the impression that his entire species was. So was this just him "clearing the pipes," with you somehow thrown into the mix? Or was it cause for you to hope for something more?

"Are you sure you want an answer to that, Y/N?" he asked seriously, finally regaining his footing, and looking at you through hooded eyes.

"Yes."

The next thing you knew he was standing. Ho boy, that was, he was _really_ naked. 100% naked Doctor. Walking toward you. Walking toward you? No, yeah, definitely walking toward you. Walking towards you and already halfway there. This was a small room. Had this room always been this small? He was in front of you. Just a foot away. Cock still hard, completely naked, and standing less than a foot away. Completely naked and taking your face in his hands. Tilting your face up towards his, while completely naked. Had you mentioned he was completely naked? Not a stitch on him and he was…kissing you. He was kissing you. That finally kicked your brain back online, or at least some part of it anyway. More. That was the one thought running through your head. You wanted more. Your hands came up to clutch at his already disheveled hair. At your reaction the Doctor deepened the kiss, licking his way into your mouth. You moaned, and instinctively pressed your body up against his. This felt so good. You'd been dying to do this since you first saw deep chocolate eyes, and lanky frame six weeks ago. The Doctor finally broke away panting to look at you.

"Really good- _really_ good answer," you said, breathing just as hard as him. The moment you felt you had enough breath back, you leaned up to kiss him again, you already missed his lips. The Doctor easily acquiesced, this time running his hands lightly along your sides. You could tell by the agitated twitching of his hands that he wanted to take your shirt off, but perhaps worried that it would be too much. It really wasn't. So you took the dilemma out of his hands and pulled away from the Doctor to yank your shirt off yourself. You also undid your bra quickly, while making sure to relieve the Doctor of any lingering doubts as to where this was going, "I'm all in if you are."

"Yes," the Doctor replied, using the serious even tone that you typically only heard when he was speaking about matters of grave importance. Honestly, you'd always wondered if that was his sex voice. Now you knew.

The moment your bra was off, the Doctor was pushing you against the hard wood of his door, while pressing another "hard wood" against your thigh. "Fuck yes," you couldn't help but think as he started to kiss you again, while his large hands came up to palm your breasts. You moaned into his mouth. He squeezed your breasts gently, and broke away from your mouth to start trailing a line of kisses down to your collarbone. You threaded your fingers through his hair as he continued to suck his way down to your breasts. You had never been gladder of his ever-present oral fixation. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, tugging it gently to hardness with his teeth. You moaned, and that got a reaction out of the Doctor. He growled and straightened up to kiss your mouth again, pushing your body firmly against the door. When you whimpered into his mouth, he started tugging your trousers off. They were fairly loose, so once he got them past your hips all he had to do was let them fall. You groaned again and tried, ineffectually to wrap a leg around the Doctor, dying for some friction on your clit. Understanding what you were going for, he helpfully placed both hands under your bum, so you could jump up and wrap both legs around the Doctor's slim hips. It was funny, you looked at the man, and it seemed as though he wasn't that strong, but the Doctor had absolutely no problems holding you up against the door like this. Neither did he have any problems five minutes later when he walked you to the bed, still holding your desperately writhing form against him.

He set you down on the bed, and you scooted back until you were in the center. He then followed after you, with intense eyes that reminded you that he over 900 years old. You shivered at the power held there. His hands traced lightly up the outsides of your legs until they reached the edge knickers. Still training his fiery gaze on you, he hooked his fingers over the edge of your knickers and pulled them down slowly. You shivered again and unconsciously whispered, "Doctor." The Doctor hmmm-ed at your soft call of his name, and pulled your last piece of clothing the rest of the way off. He then started to kiss and suck his way up your legs, never losing eye contact with you. You felt frozen on the spot again, not able to do anything but lie there and take in everything that was happening. The Doctor's long lean body curled over on his knees; his fierce eyes that held such power, you felt as though you could see galaxies rising and dying under his hand, within them; his constantly moving lips, now moving their way up to your pussy. Correction, at your pussy. He was hooking one leg over his shoulder and leaning in to…sniff you? No, yeah, the Doctor was definitely right in there, almost touching your pussy and just…inhaling deeply. Why was that hot? Could somebody please tell you why that was hot? He had finally closed his eyes, and was making pleasurable, soft humming noises. You wriggled your hips a little as you could feel the warm air from his deep breathing brushing against your clit. "Did you know that when a time lord regenerates, the only thing that remains the same about them is their smell?" He said this with such gravity, you could tell that it was supposed to mean something to you, but how could you have possibly known that fact? All of your knowledge of time lords came from him. You shook your head, and he looked…disappointed? He nodded once and breathed in your smell one more time, before licking a long stripe up your center that had both of you groaning. The Doctor ate you out voraciously, like a man starved. You couldn't even stop to admire his technique, or take note of anything he was doing down there, you were just awash with pleasure. Pure, pure pleasure. You moaned and arched up, his tongue felt like nothing you'd ever had before, your very best, top of the line vibrator paled in comparison to this, the thing was trash now as far as you were concerned. You wanted this everyday of your life and twice on Sundays. And given the way the Doctor was moaning almost as much as you, you might just get your wish. You felt yourself approaching climax, and that was before he chose to insert two of his ridiculously long fingers into you and start curling them up to your g-spot. You were a lost cause. You arched up, warmth spilling over you like sunshine as you came on the Doctor's tongue. Distantly you heard the Doctor groan and lap up your wetness greedily, seemingly doing his damnedest not to let even a drop of your essence fall onto the sheets below. You felt as though you were flying, as the Doctor's tongue continued to lap at you. Everything felt so good. When you landed, you looked down to see the Doctor finally pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them into his mouth. You moaned as he looked up at you with hooded eyes, while he licked every last drop of you from his fingers.

Once he was done, you sat up and pulled him in for a kiss. The Doctor groaned deeply, and you couldn't help but reach down and start to stroke him. He jumped in surprise, and then started kissing you fiercely, his hand coming around the back of your neck to hold you to him as he plundered your mouth. You started to stroke him faster, and in answer he pushed you down into the bed, still kissing you. You didn't know when you had started moaning again, but when the Doctor finally pulled away you found that you were _loud_. You felt the Doctor reach down and pull your hand away from his dick. You let your hands come up to roam the Doctor's back instead, as he reached down and aligned himself with your core. You moaned and nodded, making sure he knew that you were 100% on board. He looked down at you suddenly with such tenderness that it took your breath away.

"My Healer," he said softly, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

You smiled up at him, at the sweet sentiment. The idea of you healing the Doctor seemed far fetched, but you certainly would like to believe it was possible. Sometimes you saw him when he thought you weren't looking, and he seemed so broken, so unlike the jovial side of himself that he showed everyone. You wanted to heal that. You didn't know if that was a realistic dream. He had lost the entirety of his home planet, and as a result was utterly unique in the universe. That wasn't something you could fix. But maybe you could lessen the blow. Make the moments when he forgot more frequent, make them last longer. Moments like this one, when he pushed into you, and you were certain that there was no possible way he was thinking about anything else. You certainly couldn't. As the Doctor slid home, you were struck by a feeling of rightness that superseded the joining of your two bodies. There was something niggling at the back of your brain, but at the first thrust from the Doctor it was gone, and you were firmly back in the realm of the physical. You could feel the Doctor thrusting in and out of you, his pubic bone pressing against your clit deliciously on every downstroke. You usually didn't come during sex, but you couldn't help but wonder already if the Doctor was going to be the exception to that. The Doctor was murmuring your name again, his head resting in the crook of your neck. It was almost like a mantra and he pushed in and out steadily, bringing the both of you closer and closer to orgasm.

"Doctor!" you called out, and he grunted, pushing into you more firmly. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer. There was just so much touching. All of the Doctor was touching you. You rubbed the softness of your breasts against the hard planes of his chest. You pressed your smooth legs to his lanky, hairy ones. You ran your hands down to his, surprisingly, full arse and grabbed on, pulling him further into you. The Doctor groaned and panted against your neck, his hips moving more quickly now. He pulled up to look at you, and…were those tears? You didn't have long to wonder, because the Doctor was leaning down for another kiss. He kissed you gently, even as the movement of his hips became erratic. And with the change in movement, he was suddenly hitting you g-spot dead on. You started to moan into the Doctor's mouth. Since you were on your second orgasm of the night, this wasn't going to take long. Sure enough, a few moments later, you felt yourself fly over the edge for a second time, clenching around the Doctor's shaft. You felt him follow you over the edge, coating your insides with his come. You both continued kissing as you slowly worked through your respective orgasms. Eventually you both came back to yourselves, and the Doctor rolled off of you to lie beside you on the bed. You turned on your side, and not wanting to discuss ramifications, or what any of this _meant_ at the moment, you simply laid your head on the Doctor's chest and closed your eyes.

The Doctor was running his hands through your hair absentmindedly playing with it, but you could tell from his even breathing, that he would be asleep soon. He reached down and laid a hand on your cheek, and kissed the top of your head gently, saying, "Mo-een al." That meant, "my beloved." He used to say that to you every night.

Wait. Your eyes snapped open. How did you know that? You didn't know Gallifreyan. He'd never said those words before to you in your life.

Time stopped.

You felt as though you were rushing through a long tunnel, and at the same time, staying completely still. Events flashed before your eyes so quickly that you couldn't distinguish one from another. Faces, so many faces you'd never seen before, but you knew all their names. You knew the Doctor's. You knew his first face. You knew yours.

Everything stopped.

You knew who you were.

You looked up at the Doctor, expecting him to be looking down at you strangely. Surely you had frozen for several minutes. But he was looking down at you as though no time had passed at all. You smiled up at him, tears in your eyes now mirroring his. "Mo-een alla-sool." It meant, "my cherished one." It was what you had said every night to him, back on Gallifrey. When you were his wife.

The Doctor's face lit up with the brightest smile you'd ever seen, and the unshed tears finally spilled from his eyes. He said your name, your true name over and over, holding your face in his hands and littering it with kisses. You smiled like a fool, unbelieving that after all this time you had found your way back to him. Much like the Master, you had hidden yourself as a human, in the desperate hope of the doctor finding you one day. And if he didn't…well you didn't want to remember anyway.

"The children?" the Doctor asked hopefully.

You shook your head sadly. You had waited too long. You hadn't been able to get them out. They, along with everyone you had loved were gone by the time you had left.

The Doctor stilled for a moment, clearly having hoped against hope that his entire family would be returned to him. You both sat in stillness for an interminable amount of time, thinking of all that you had lost. The Doctor was the first to speak. "You are more than I could have ever hoped for," he said brokenly.

"Mo-een alla-sool," you replied, over and over, leaning up to litter _his_ face with tender kisses. You felt for him. It must have been agony to have spent so many years alone, agony to finally find your wife and be unable to say anything, agony to wonder everyday for six weeks if she would ever remember. Memory loss was a tricky thing. It was always recommended that the person remember on their own, unprompted. Forcing someone to remember could have disastrous consequences. In truth what the Doctor had done tonight had been very dangerous. But you suspected that having you so close, and clearly desiring him, even as a human, had finally broken his self control. You also now suspected that the TARDIS's overshooting of such a mundane trip was anything but an accident.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, and caught your lips with his own. You kissed one another for a long time, neither of you wanting to let go. When you finally broke apart, you laid your hand over his twin hearts, desperate to know everything that had happened to him during your separation. But that could wait for another day. For now you just wanted to let your eyes have their fill of him.

"Quite pretty, this regeneration," you commented, your eyes scanning his face, taking in everything that was new.

"It was for a friend," he said, voice heavy.

"Was she good to you?"

He nodded, and you saw the traces of another loss in his eyes. You laid your hand against his cheek. "You will never be lonely again, my love." The Doctor leaned into the warmth of your hand, and this time, when you looked in his eyes, you could see something entirely new: hope.


	14. Sex toys- ReaderSamDean

**Summary: **After accidentally coming into a wealth of sex toys, it's up to you, Dean and Sam to sort through them all. As you might expect in an explicitly rated fan fiction, this goes off the rails entirely and results in a threesome involving yourself and both of the boys.

This is a one shot with a bit of build up that results in an explosion of pure filth. Enjoy.

**Warnings: **looots of sex toys, double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, anal play and plugs, drinking, dirty talk, light BDSM

Your evening had started out as it always did. Receiving a giant box of sex toys from a sixty five year old woman whose shop you'd de-ghosted. Yes. Completely normal.

The boys had barely been able to keep a straight face when the venerable proprietor had shoved the large box into Sam's hands. "There. Now you three go have a nice weekend. Take some time to yourselves, you most certainly deserve it."

You all looked at her, so taken aback that every single one of you just stood there, stone still, for a full minute. That was a lot to unravel. What did you address first? The box? Why was it so big? _How much_ stuff was in there? _What _was in there? Also, you, Sam, and Dean, were _not_ together. How had she reached that conclusion? And, you got that she ran a shop, and that this was what she had on hand, but who just gave out huge boxes of sex toys? Who did that? This lady apparently.

Strangely enough, your brain decided to address the whole, "not a threesome," thing. "I-um…thanks? We're not together."

Of all the reactions you might have expected, distress was definitely not the top of the list, but that was most certainly the look on this lady's face. In fact she looked down right appalled. "All that sexual tension and you're not sleeping together?" You all shook your heads. "Not any of you?" You all paused at that. That was not exactly true. You had slept with both of the boys individually, and you got the feeling that at the absolute_ least_, the boys had participated in a threesome together before. But all of those facts were things that were firmly on the no fly list. You did not talk about any of that. Ever. But apparently your collective silence on the matters while still sharing close quarters had resulted in a sexual tension so extreme that it was now obvious to other people.

The shop lady, Deborah, seemed to relax at the sight of your collective uncomfortableness following her second question. "Good. Well, there's hope then. Maybe the box will help," she said patting the top of it. You were all still uncertain of what to say. "Well, go on. I've thanked you for all your help, don't you have something to say to me?" she asked, looking pointedly at the box. Damn. This lady was bolder than Cara Delevigne's eyebrows.

Sam was the first to speak this time. "Thank you …for the sex toys?" he said uncertainly. When she nodded deeply, he relaxed, and clearly considering his part in this weirdness complete, turned to head towards the car.

"Yeah, uh… thanks, Deb," you said, eager to follow Sam out of this awkward conversation. Dean simply nodded in thanks, getting out the easiest of all of you, and walked quickly after you and Sam.

Sam put the big box in the trunk of the Impala. The moment he slid into the Impala, he turned to Dean and said, "That was your fault."

"My fault? How was that my fault?"

"You're the reason we took this case."

"Yeah, and? Look dude, it was full on Poltergeist in there. It was a legit hunt."

"Dean, that is not why you insisted we take this hunt," you added. Unable to help yourself from jumping into the brotherly feud.

Dean shrugged one shoulder and shot you a look in the rearview mirror, that clearly said, "Yeah, okay, you got me."

"I still can't believe she gave us a whole box of sex toys," Sam interjected.

"Look, Sammy, when you've got lemons, make lemonade. Lady was surrounded by lemons, what was she supposed to do?"

"_Not _give them to us," you muttered.

"Yeah, and where was this whole lemons, lemonade crap when Deborah was shoving a box of dildos into my hands?" Sam teased.

"I'm not great with surprises, all right? You know that."

"Dean. Our whole life is surprises."

"Yeah, and I hate 'em. Look quit ganging up on me, you know I don't like it when you guys do that."

"I think Deb would disagree with that assessment," you said wryly.

Sam snorted.

"Okay, music time. Now." Dean said, frustratedly, punching the button for the tape deck, and blaring Metallica all the way back to the bunker.

Once you were back at the bunker, Sam hauled the box out of the trunk, and carried it into the library, setting it on the table. You all decided it would be best just to deal with it after you'd had dinner. Deciding what to do with a mystery box of sex toys was something best done on a full stomach. You all had a simple meal of grilled cheese sandwiches, and soup, which you had all finished within the half hour. After a while, no amount of bowl scraping could keep the three of you from admitting that it was time to deal with the box.

You all walked back to the library together, and you had to confess that a part of you was quite curious. Dean pulled out a pocket knife and slit open the tape, pulling the cardboard flaps apart to reveal: "Hey! Booze!" Dean said excitedly pulling out several bottles of alcohol. That was an unexpected surprise. There were two full bottles of Black Maple Hill scotch, a bottle of Hendrick's gin, and quite a large bottle of El Tesoro tequila. How had this lady known what you all drank? Dean was the scotch drinker, Sam was gin, and you were tequila. You knew for a fact that you'd never mentioned any of this to her on the hunt. Had she just _read _the three of you and figured it out?

Sam meanwhile, was voicing your exact thoughts aloud, "How did she know what all of us drank?"

"Who cares, this is the good stuff," Dean said, already happily opening his bottle.

"Dean, you can't get drunk yet, we have to finish going through this box," you called after him as he headed off to the kitchen in search of glasses. He didn't respond and soon returned with a tray of glasses and mixers.

"Look," he said plainly as he walked back in, "Whatever 50 Shades kind of crap is in this box is going to be a hell of a lot less awkward to deal with if we've all got a couple drinks in us. Now what do you want?"

You couldn't deny that a stiff drink sounded really good to you right now. You looked up at Sam questioningly, and he shrugged. "I'll have a tequila sunrise," you said, turning back to face Dean. Dean nodded and grabbed the OJ, while Sam started to mix himself a Gin Rickey. Once Dean had made your drink, and poured himself a double of whiskey, he reached for the tequila again, and produced three shot glasses from his pockets.

"Dean," you said warningly. Tequila shots never resulted in well thought out decisions for you. In fact they were part of the lapse in judgement that had landed you in bed with Sam after having _already _slept with Dean just a few weeks prior.

Clearly remembering this, Sam said, "C'mon, Y/N, I like tequila shots. They bring up fond memories."

"See?" Dean said looking at you. "C'mon, two rounds. I don't know about you, but need to be decently buzzed before I have a look at what else Mrs. Robinson has packed for us."

You sighed, and took the shot. This whole set up was a bad idea, but the stupid sexual tension that Deb had picked up on had been driving you so crazy the past few weeks that at this point you didn't care if you all slept together, and the boys never spoke to you again. You just couldn't take it anymore. The littlest things: flashes of skin; certain words; snatches of their cologne; tiny, unconscious movements; all had you flashing back to your nights with them on an almost daily basis. Dean's tongue. Sam's hands. Dean's ass. Sam's hips. You were going out of your mind. You took another shot, hoping to drown out the barrage of desire that had been your constant companion for over a month now.

You and Dean wound up having three rounds, Sam four, before feeling ready to turn back to the box again. You were all decidedly tipsy, but nowhere near drunk. Although once you tasted how strong Dean had made your tequila sunrise, you wondered how far off drunk _really _was.

"All right, let's open 'er up," Dean said lifting the flaps again. "And we haaaave," he reached in and pulled out the first item he saw, "A board game?" You looked at the small box in Dean's hands. Nope, yeah, that was definitely a board game.

"Hey look, there's a note on top," Sam observed.

You pulled it off and read the contents of Deb's tidy scrawl aloud. "Dear Sam, Dean, and Y/N. I hope you all enjoy the items in this box. Whatever is not to your liking feel free to pass on to any acquaintances you would like, or recycle them responsibly. However, over my forty five in this business, I have become a fairly good reader of people, and I suspect that at least one of you will enjoy each item I have placed in this box. The items in this box are brand new, although I have taken the liberty of de-packaging them and fitting them with batteries. I'm sure the last thing you all want to do with a box such as this is spend the evening with a set of scissors, and a box of batteries. Thank you again for all of your help. You have given me back my store and my livelihood. Sincerely, Deborah." You set down the note, "Aw, that's sweet."

"Sweet? She gave us a board game, Y/N. Which one of the three of us is supposed to be into sexy, sexy board games?" Sam asked, unconvinced. Neither you or Dean said anything to that, which you found quite telling, because you knew you were quite intrigued by the idea of a sexual game. Dean simply set down the board game, and reached into the box again. This time he pulled out something far more stereotypical.

"Aaaand next is…edible underwear! Now we're talking!" Dean said, grinning.

"Dude, you've got such a food fixation, those are totally for you."

"Oh so that's how it's gonna be? You wanna play pin the kink on the person?" He looked down at you. "What do you say, Y/N? Sound fun?"

You nodded, that actually _did _sound like fun. "Sam's right, the edible underwear were definitely meant for you."

"True," Dean said nodding, with a distant look in his eyes. "In my defense though, they are delicious." He had already started to reach into the box again, "Okay, let's see who's next." He pulled out a set of leather cuffs.

"Sam," you said automatically before Dean could speak. The boys both turned to look at you, clearly surprised at how quick your reaction was. "Oh, c'mon, Sam," you said looking up at him, "You held my wrists down for the entirety of our fourth round." The tequila was definitely making your tongue looser.

"Fourth round, good boy!" Dean said rounding on Sam.

Sam smiled tightly at Dean's praise. Dean whipped around to face you again, "Yeah, he's a total bossy pants, but 'em in his stack." He tossed you the cuffs and you started a pile for Sam alongside Dean's. "Let's see if there's something in Santa's sack for you, Y/N," Dean said, stretching his arm into the box again. He pulled out a long pink, rabbit eared vibrator, "Survey says, hell yes." He tossed you the vibe and you obediently put it in your pile.

"Oh, come on Dean! Don't even pretend that one's not at least a little for you," Sam interjected.

"What do you mean? I don't have the parts to make that work."

"Yeah, but I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times the porn videos you've left up on my computer have been of girls playing with vibrators." Now _this _was a kink of Dean's you hadn't known about.

Dean shrugged, "I like seeing girls come. Who doesn't?"

You shook your head, casting your mind back to your night with Dean. Come to think of it, Dean _had _been more into you coming than most guys. You'd just assumed he'd been all about giving pleasure, but it seemed as though he just liked seeing it, no matter whether he was the cause or not. "No, Dean. You were more into seeing me come than most guys," you said, voicing your thoughts aloud. Yeah, that tequila had _definitely _loosened your tongue.

"Exactly. Dean, that thing belongs in your pile just as much as Y/N's," Sam said firmly to Dean.

"Fine, fine," Dean said holding up his hands in defeat. "Let's just see what's next."

Dean drew out the next item, a sexy set of lingerie. Clearly for you. Then a spreader bar, again for Mr. Bossypants. Cock rings, both of the boys. The tongue vibrator went to Dean due to his oral fixation. Finger vibrators ended up with Sam because of his love of fingering girls so he could talk dirty to them while he got them off. That memory had caused you to go glossy eyed. Don't let the dimples fool you, Sam had an absolutely _filthy _mouth. Next you got the sex swing, since you loved trying out different positions. The memories sparked by that particular item had made Sam and Dean go glossy eyed, before letting their gaze track your body slowly. Costumes mostly went to Dean, although at the input of a blushing Sam, the nurse and doctor set wound up being attributed to him. The telescoping stripper pole was also a bit of a surprise, Dean was a given, but Sam had insisted that it was equally for him, while you had maintained that it was for you too. Sam was also deemed the cause of the fleshlight's presence in the box (as Dean preferred his own hand.) And Dean supplied that you were to blame for the anal plug, which had earned you an appraising look from Sam. A bright red ball gag had caused Sam's eyes to light up and flash over to you, at which point you and Dean had said that anything BDSM related was going to automatically assumed to be Sam's unless something was stated otherwise. So when a collar and leash had been the next thing pulled, it had gone to Sam without question. When a DVD of HD girl on girl porn had showed up next, Sam had reflexively tried to put Dean down as the cause, but your shy hand raise had disabused him of the notion. _That _had earned you an appraising look from Dean.

And that was the end of the box, aside from some lube, batteries, and a couple more vibrators in various sizes and shapes, it was empty. "Well that's it," you said, turning to look at your haul on the table. That was a lot of sex toys.

"Not quite," Sam said, picking up the board game from the beginning of the night. "We never decided who this belonged to."

There was a brief pause. "Let's play it," Dean said impulsively.

Sam looked at you questioningly. You shrugged. "There's no easier way to find out who it was meant for."

"But-"

"Look, we don't have to do what it says. We can just play it without actually doing all the sexy stuff," you said, guessing the cause of his hesitation. This night was a runaway train and you had a feeling that you knew where it was headed, but it seemed like Sam wasn't completely on board yet.

"Yeah, come on, Sammy. It'll be fun." Dean said, sitting down on the floor. "Unless, of course, you think you're the one it was meant for."

"This one was _not _me, Dean," Sam said taking the bait (and the tequila), and sitting down heavily on the floor. He opened the box and dumped out the game pieces. You and Dean set up, while he quickly skimmed the rules. Sam took a swig of the tequila, and set the rules down. "Pretty simple," he said, passing the bottle to you. "Roll the regular dice, see where you land and take a card. At that point it's practically truth or dare. First one to the finish earns the right to be," he cleared his throat, conspicuously not looking at you, "The first one to _finish_."

"Sounds good," you said, taking a swig of the bottle and handing it to Dean. "We can just do the truth cards, how about that?"

"Aw, man, the dares are the best part though!" Dean said.

"Easy big boy," you said.

"I'm always easy, Y/N," Dean said winking at you.

"All right, all right!" Sam said, cutting both of you off and grabbing the tequila bottle from Dean. "Truths only."

Dean pouted and looked down at the board. "Hey, what are these?" he asked picking up a pair of red and black dice.

"They're for if you land on one of these," Sam said, pointing to the large red hearts that were practically every third square.

"Can we at least do these?" Dean asked eagerly. Damn, this night might not be a runaway train after all, it might just be in the hands of a really reckless conductor.

Sam shot you an uncertain look. You shrugged. "Let's just start," you said deciding to let the chips fall where they may. You grabbed the regular dice and rolled. Four. You moved your piece and grabbed a card. "Truth…wait who am I asking?"

"Both of us," Dean supplied, pulling a penny out of his pocket and putting it on the board as a makeshift marker. "I don't think this game was made for three, so we'll all just do everything." That sounded prophetic.

"Okay, um. Describe the last time you were so horny that you wanted to get frisky in public."

"Frisky, haven't heard that word in a while, I like this game's moxie," Dean said. "Okay, so there was this girl, this like really hot girl, she was wearing this, really tight blue dress with these stripes on it. And she was walking around in these kick ass boots, and her ass. Dude her _ass _was- there aren't words_. _Then she uh- leaned over this ledge, reaching for something, and she was wearing these little blue- little blue panties, and they were just barely peeking out. I just couldn't stop thinking about taking them off with my teeth. I mean, like I _could not _stop imagining it. It was torture man, full on Doc Manhattan balls for the rest of the day."

"Dean, that was me!" you said chucking the box lid at him. "You think I don't know my own wardrobe?" Dean shot you a shit eating grin and shrugged. "Was that dress really that much of a turn on?"

"Yes," Sam and Dean both said at the same time.

You turned to look at Sam, who cleared his throat and looked away, bashful. "Uh, actually that was gonna be my story too."

"Both of you?"

"We were all alone in an abandoned building, and I dunno, there was tons of stuff to bend you over. You smelled really good that day, and I don't know-whatever, who's next roll?" Dean said gesturing dismissively and grabbing the tequila again.

"I knew you guys were weird on that hunt," you muttered shaking your head, before handing Sam the dice. "Here Sam, roll."

Sam rolled and jumped forward five spaces. He picked up a card, read it to himself, blushed and put it back in the deck. "Dare," he stated looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed another, "Okay, truth. What is your partner's best physical fea-."

"Boobs," Dean said before Sam had even finished reading the question. He looked at you, "You're the partner, right?" You nodded and saw his eyes flash down to your breasts. "Yeah, boobs. Love 'em. They're great," Dean said simply.

You smiled, that was the most "Dean" way to compliment someone that you'd ever heard. You looked back and forth between Sam and Dean. You liked so much about each of them that it was actually kind of hard to pick. "Well, for you, Dean, um, I'm gonna say your mouth. Your lips, your tongue, the whole thing, really amazing."

"Really?" Dean said cockily, licking his lips. Bastard.

"Yeah, uh," you glanced down at his lips, "It's actually really distracting."

"Mmmhmm," he said, biting his bottom lip slowly and giving you bedroom eyes.

"Okay, stop it," you said, squirming a little. Dean broke out into a wide grin and took another swig of tequila before handing it to you.

"Drink up, and start talking about Sammy then."

You dutifully took a pull of the golden liquid, and turned to Sam. "Hips," you said after a moment of deliberation. "You've got these, uh, lines," you indicated with your hands on your own hips, "Right here. And sometimes when you stretch I can see them above your pants and I want-" you paused, this was definitely verging into explicit territory.

"C'mon, Y/N, tell Sammy what you want," Dean said lowly. You were sure he'd intended his words to be teasing, but that was _not _what it sounded like.

"They, uh, I always just wanna fall to my knees and lick them." There it was out.

Sam was looking at you, surprise written all over his face. You weren't sure why. You'd slept together, he had to know you thought he was hot. But before Sam could say anything Dean was grabbing the dice and rolling them saying, "My turn," brightly. You attention snapped back to the game. Dean pulled a card, and turned to Sam with pleading eyes, "It's a dare, but it's so perfect!" He showed Sam the card. "It's not even that sexual, people do it in public."

"People do it in bars."

"We have all the ingredients."

"Fine, show, Y/N the card, let her decide." It looked like Sam's resistance was starting to fade. You looked at the card, "Do a body shot off your partner." Hell yes.

"Where are the limes?" you asked glancing over at Dean. Dean looked like Christmas had come early. He hopped up, grabbed a bowl of cut limes and a salt shaker from the tray and sat back down on the floor looking eager. "You fucking planned this didn't you."

"Always be prepared. Boy Scout motto."

"You were a scout for like, two weeks," Sam interjected.

"Hey, not my fault we moved," Dean said dismissively, still holding out the shot ingredients. You took them, turned to Sam, and told him to lie back. "Hey!" Dean protested.

"It was your card," you replied, as Sam obediently stretched his long body out flat. "That means Sam and I do it."

"Don't act like you're disappointed, Dean. You're the biggest damn voyeur I know," Sam supplied. Yeah, Sam's resistance was definitely crumbling.

"Yeah, true," Dean admitted, scooching back a little so he could get a good view of you kneeling beside Sam. It turned out to be worth it, because when Sam pulled up his shirt, your face morphed into one of pure lust, which Dean greatly enjoyed. You had forgotten how good Sam looked lying down and shirtless. You sat still, staring at Sam for far too long, until Sam's unsubtle throat clear got you back on track.

"Yeah, sorry," you said, putting the salt and limes down. You leaned up and licked a line along Sam's throat, trying desperately not to get distracted again. It was really, _really _hard. You shook some salt over the line, and then put the lime wedge in Sam's mouth. You chanced one last look at Sam's face, before pouring the tequila in his belly button. Doing your best not to let any of the slippery liquid escape, you immediately bent down and sucked the tequila out of Sam's belly button. Swallowing, you turned and licked the salt off his neck, priding yourself on only getting slightly distracted. Finally you pulled the lime out of his mouth, sucked it, and set it on the tray.

"Your turn," Sam said beneath you. Was he breathing heavier, or were you imagining things? You didn't have long to contemplate as the next thing you knew, Sam was lowering you to the ground. He switched sides so that Dean could still see, reminding you that you were being watched. You turned your head to see Dean looking at both of you with a clenched jaw, and fiery eyes. You hmmed a little and resisted the urge to arch up into Sam's hands which were pulling your shirt up under your ribcage. Unlike you, Sam didn't waste any time getting started. He leaned in, and licked a long, slow line up the side of your neck. You moaned softly, remembering what it was like to have Sam above you doing far dirtier things. His tongue was gone too soon, and Sam was shaking salt onto your wet neck. He popped the lime in your mouth, poured the tequila into your navel, and before you could steel yourself, Sam's tongue was dipping into your belly button. You moaned _loud_ at that. Sam didn't seem to take any notice, but Dean did, you heard him utter a muted, "Fuck." When Sam licked the salt off your neck, he definitely got in a few toe curling nips, before pulling the lime out of your mouth and setting it on the tray.

You lay there for a moment. Dean clearly turned on, and Sam kneeling imperiously over you You waited to see if this was the moment the tension would break.

"It's your turn, Y/N," Sam said softly. Guess not.

You sat up, pulling your shirt down over your wet belly, and scooted back to your seat. The whole room was uncharacteristically quiet as you took your next turn. "Truth," you said, reading your card. "Have you ever had a threesome?" Whelp, that was pretty on the nose given the current situation.

Sam and Dean, looked at each other. "Yeah," to your surprise, Sam was the one to speak. "Us and another girl, actually."

"Coupla times, yeah," Dean added. They turned to look at you.

"Good?" you asked.

"Fuck yeah," Dean answered emphatically.

You nodded. "Sounds like fun," you said evenly, and passed the dice. That was the last piece you hadn't been 100% certain about. You'd had an inkling, but you hadn't been sure. With that piece of information out in the open, it was clear that the three of you would be sleeping together tonight. At this point, it was just down to who was going to break first. Really given everything that had been revealed tonight, it seemed incredible that none of you had been broken weeks ago. If you'd been a betting woman, you would have gone all in on Dean being the first to go. You would have bet wrong.

Sam rolled the dice and two spaces later, landed on one of the big heart thingies. "Go ahead, just roll the dice, Dean wouldn't let me see what was on them earlier." Jaw clenched, and not looking at you, Sam grabbed the red and black dice with words on them and all but threw them on the board. When they landed, he didn't read them aloud.

But Dean did. He _started to _anyway_. _"Nip-whoa." He didn't get far because before he could finish Sam had pounced on you like a goddamn tiger and pinned you to the floor. You could surmise what was on the dice because he immediately leaned in and nipped the lobe of your ear in between his teeth.

"I can't take it any more, Y/N," he said, hands trailing down your arms to your breasts. "I can't fuckin' do it." His breath tickled your ear and you shivered.

"It's okay Sam, I want this."

"But, I thought you-"

"I changed my mind. I don't care if this all goes south. I can't take it anymore either, just fuck me." You turned to look at Dean, who hadn't moved an inch. "Both of you." Everything stood still long enough for you to see Dean nod, and then Sam was literally ripping your clothes off. He tore your thin tee down the middle, and if your bra hadn't been front clasp you were sure he would have tried to do the same to it. With your upper body exposed to his gaze, Sam had wasted no time in leaning down and sucking a nipple into his mouth, while palming your other breast in one of his gargantuan hands. You moaned and arched your chest into his mouth. When Dean's mirroring moan sounded far closer than you'd anticipated, you looked over to find him crawling over to you. Once he reached you, Sam rolled off you and laid down beside you to make room for Dean, who also laid down beside you before knocking Sam's hand out of the way, so that he could affix his mouth to your free nipple. Apparently his oral fixation was stronger than his voyeuristic streak. You groaned and threaded your hands through their hair, trying in vain to draw them closer to you. Their twin mouths felt so good on you that you didn't notice when their wandering hands started wandering further south. Somehow they got both the button and zip undone on your jeans without you noticing. The first time you were made aware of this fact was when Sam started trying to impatiently shove his large hand into your tight jean's. You wriggled, trying to arch encouragingly toward the hand that was patently not going to fit in your pants. You looked down in time to see Dean roll his eyes before removing his mouth from your nipple and shimmying down your body.

"He's like this every time," Dean grumbled to no one in particular. "C'mon, Sammy, move your stupid hand, I gotta get her jeans off first." Sam didn't reply, but he did move his hand. He continued suckling your breast, while Dean yanked your pants and underwear off efficiently. The moment they were gone, Sam's hand was between your legs, stoking your already wet pussy.

"Oh, god," you groaned. Dean spread your legs, hooking one over his shoulder and the other over Sam's leg. Dean looped Sam's hand underneath your leg so that he was now fingering you from underneath and his palm wasn't in Dean's way. Once Dean had you situated the way you wanted, he leaned in and started placing little licks all around your clit. You almost sobbed with how good it felt. Sam kissed his way up your body to nibble at your ear again.

"You like that, Y/N? You like the way his tongue feels?" You moaned as he sank his fingers further into you. "How about my fingers, huh? How do those feel?"

"Good, really good. Please." You didn't even know what you were asking for.

"I think we can do better than good," Sam said, getting up. That was not what you wanted. Sam leaving was the exact _opposite _of what you wanted. You whimpered in protest, but Dean soon distracted you, placing long licks directly to your clit, and inserting his fingers where Sam's had been. You got so lost in Dean that you didn't pay attention to what Sam was doing. Moments later you heard a loud thump beside you and jumped. When you looked over, you saw Sam sitting back down with the (presumably) refilled sex toy box behind him. He had the anal plug in his hand. You shivered with anticipation, remembering just how many things were in that box. How many of them was Sam planning to use on you tonight?

"As many as I can," Sam replied. Had you said that aloud? Sam stretched himself out beside you, and instead of hooking your leg over his again, he looped an arm around your leg, and hoisted it up. Clearly with the program, Dean got to his knees and held your other leg up while continuing to finger you, now rubbing your clit with his thumb in absence of his mouth. You heard the sound of a cap being opened next to you, an turned to see Sam, with your leg still in the crook of his elbow, coating two of his fingers with lube. "You ever done this before, Y/N?" You nodded, looking at his long fingers with lust. Sam leaned in an kissed you briefly, "Good." With your back hole easily accessible from the way they were holding you, he reached down and started trailing one finger lightly around your hole. "Because tonight, Dean and I are going to fill you up. It won't be the first time we have you. We're going to get you nice and ready first, get you so worked up you can't see straight. I am going to work my fingers in and out of you, until you're begging me for this plug." As he said this, Sam started working his first finger into your tight hole. You let out a high pitch whine, and you were certain that it wouldn't take him long to get you begging. "And then it's going to stay in you. Dean and I are going to do so many filthy things to you, and it'll be there the whole time, reminding you what we're going to do with youlater tonight. Because you haven't had it in a long time have you, Y/N?" You shook your head. You didn't think you would have been able to form words if you wanted to, not with Sam pumping a single finger slowly in and out of your ass, while Dean fucked his fingers into your pussy with a similar removed languidness. "But you want it." You nodded frantically, oh god did you ever want it. "Good," Sam said again, starting to push a second finger into you. You mewled and tried to thrash from all the stimulation, but the boys held you firm. "Yeah, that's right. I'm gonna fuck your pretty little ass. Gonna feel so good. Dean and I are gonna fill you up so well, Y/N." Sam started to scissor his fingers, just as Dean curled his fingers up to start rubbing your g-spot, and you _wailed_. You could feel your orgasm welling up inside you. "Uh-uh-uh, not yet, Y/N. Just a little longer, let me get this inside of you and then Dean will let you come on his tongue. Can you hold on a little longer, Y/N?" You bit your lip and nodded; you could be good for them.

"Thatta girl," Dean said, finally speaking up.

You glowed at the praise, more determined than ever to hold off until they said you could come.

"So good pretty baby, you're doing so good," Dean said rubbing a hand soothingly up and down your leg. Talking wise, this was about par for the course for both of them, Dean mostly murmured encouragements and praises, while Sam gave you a novel's worth of prurient play by play.

You lost yourself in Dean's soothing words and hands, letting him help you stave off your orgasm, and before you knew it, you felt the cool kiss of plastic at your back hole. Sam's voice was back. "You want it?" You nodded. "You sure you want this plug in you, pretty girl?" Sam asked, pushing just a hint of the tip in, you could already feel your stretched hole trying to flutter around it.

"Yes, Sam please," you choked out, and Sam gave you what you wanted. You felt him slowly push more and more of the slicked up toy into you until the narrow neck slid home and you felt it's wide base nestle against the outside of your hole. You moaned loudly. You felt so full. "Dean, please."

"Easy baby girl, I got you," Dean said lowering himself to lie flat on his belly again. The moment his tongue touched your clit you came, arching up and crying out. Dean was just barely able to get his tongue to your entrance in time to lap up all the wetness flowing out of you. Slowly you felt your orgasm taper off, leaving you feeling warm all over. Sam leaned down to kiss you deeply, while Dean cleaned your pussy with his tongue. After you were at least no longer sopping, Sam and Dean both pulled away, only for Dean to immediately utter, "I wanna see it again."

Sam tossed him one of the toys. "That alright with you, Y/N?"

"Hell yes." Sam grinned down at you. He started to play with your breasts while Dean leaned down to eat you out again. You jumped when Dean's tongue touched you, it was vibrating. Oh fuck, he had put the tongue vibrator on! You could feel him smile against you at your reaction.

"Feel good, Y/N?"

"Sooooo good," you said, your breath hitching in the middle. Dean pressed the vibrator to your clit, moving it against you in steady strokes, while he fucked you with two fingers. "Oh god, so good." This second one wasn't going to take long, not with all the sensory information piling up in your body from all the hands, and tongues, and lips, and words. Two of everything. This was going to be the death of you.

"I can't wait to fuck you, Y/N," Sam whispered in your ear, tweaking your nipple. "Can't wait to slide back inside you. You felt so _good_ that night. I've been thinking about it ever since, imagining it was you when I fucked my hand. Kept thinking about how you felt, how you sounded. I felt so guilty that I couldn't stop picturing you naked. For two weeks, every single solitary thing you did, I pictured you doing naked. It felt itchy standing near you, knowing what you felt like and not touching you. Then I saw the way that Dean was looking at you, and I understood. I knew why you'd told me to leave. I couldn't do a damn thing about it, but I understood. And every day, from that instant forward, I thought about this moment. I thought about you spread out beneath both of us, writhing, begging so nicely for us to do anything for you, waiting for us to overload you. You're feeling it now aren't you? It's too much, isn't it Y/N?" It was. You could still feel the plug, full in your ass, what's more you could feel Dean's fingers, now three deep, rubbing against it; you could feel the vibrations from Dean's tongue centered on your clit; you could feel Sam's hands on your breasts, his breath in your ear; you could picture everything he was saying to you, him and Dean just as fucked up and horny as you had been over the past month. It was too much. "Take one more," Sam said, pressing his finger, fitted with the fingertip vibrator, in alongside Dean's fingers. Solely the idea of having both of their fingers inside you at the same time would have been too much, the reality of it, along with the addition of a second vibrator was absolutely earth shattering. There was no holding this one back. You came with a caterwauling yell, contracting around their fingers, and seeing stars. They continued playing with you, and the sensations ripped through you, everything diamond bright from the intensity of your orgasm. It felt like it took ages, but when you finally came back down, you found their fingers removed, and Dean's lips on your hip. They simply laid with you for several minutes, not saying or doing anything while you slowly got your breath back.

Once you were in your right mind again, the first thing you noticed was that both of them were still completely clothed. Not acceptable. Still needing some time to recover, you decided to have them do it for you. "Strip," you ordered, your breathlessness slightly undermining the power you'd hoped to convey. The edges of Sam's mouth pressed down in a suppressed grin.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, with a jaunty two fingered salute. He pulled off his shirt, and Sam sat up to do the same. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as Dean undid his belt. "How ya feelin' down there, Y/N?"

"Good," you replied lightly. "A little tired, but I'll be ready for another round in a minute." Dean pulled down his pants and boxers and his member sprung free. "Maybe less," you amended, eyeing it. Dean shuffled out of his pants, and knelt in front of you completely naked. Your mouth watered. How had you gone without seeing him like this for so long? You were suddenly overwhelmed with the need to taste him. You sat up and leaned forward to kiss Dean. Dean moaned into your mouth, as he kissed you back. You could taste traces of yourself on his tongue. Behind you, you felt Sam plaster himself to your back, also completely naked, having shed his pants while you and Dean were kissing. Knowing where you wanted this to go, and suspecting that it was Sam's plan too, you started to kiss your way down Dean's body. You shuffled back into Sam as you kissed lower and lower, until you were on all fours, mouth level with Dean's cock, with Sam kneeling behind you. "Do it," was all you said. Giving Sam the permission he needed, as you started to lick Dean's shaft, pulling long groans from him. You felt Sam's fingers inside you, checking to see that you were still ready; he tugged teasingly on the end of your plug on his way back up and you jolted at the sensation. He really was going to have you panting for it all night, wasn't he? Dean wove his hands into your hair, and you made sure to look up at him as you sucked his tip into your mouth. Meanwhile you could feel Sam lining himself up with your hole. You arched your back, wordlessly trying to encourage him, but Sam took his time. He entered you slowly, making sure you had time to adjust to every inch he pushed into you. You moaned around Dean's dick, and started to suck him deeper, transferring your pent up need onto him. Dean groaned loudly, and his hips twitched towards you. It took a full minute before Sam finally bottomed out. He gave a few experimental thrusts, checking again that you were ready for him. Then he started up a steady pace, that you knew from experience could be deceptively ruthless. The thing about Sam's pace, was that it was unrelenting. In and then out, in and then out, in a completely smooth never-ending cycle, the lack of a discernible beginning or end drove you mad after a while (in the best way possible). You remembered your first time with Sam, begging him to fuck you harder, only to end up coming three times, as his subtly increasing speed drew them out of you one right after the other. You moaned around Dean's dick again, remembering the experience.

"You gotta stop doing that, baby," Dean said in a strained voice, "Fuck it's hot, but I won't last long."

"Don't worry, she won't either," Sam said confidently, his smooth thrusts having somehow reached a velocious pace without you noticing. Sam was right, you could feel the heat starting to build in your belly, you weren't going to last long at all. You sucked Dean hard into your mouth and moaned long and low.

"Fuck," Dean gritted out.

Sam looked down at himself disappearing between your folds, and knew he'd be there soon as well. As it turned out, despite being the only one in the group on your third orgasm of the night, you broke first, coming all over Sam's dick. The intense contractions of your pussy walls pushed Sam over too, who came with a growl of your name, gripping your hips tightly and pushing as far inside you as he could go. Dean turned out to be the last one standing, but not for very long. Seeing you and Sam both reach completion had done it for Dean, and he came with a sensual moan, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed, and flopped to the side, needing to lie down post haste. Sam and Dean sprawled out around you, breathing heavily.

Only ten minutes later, Dean was the first to recover. "Again?" he asked hopefully, looking down at you.

You glanced down at Dean's cock, and just as you expected, he wasn't hard again yet (he wasn't exactly a teenager anymore). "Dean, you're not hard yet," you stated questioningly.

"No, I meant can we make you come again?" He reached into the box and fished around for what he was looking for. Moments later he triumphantly pulled out the rabbit vibrator. "Please? I'm wanna see this in you so bad."

You hadn't thought you could go another round, but looking at the rabbit vibrator, and remembering how the mini ones had felt just a little bit ago, you found yourself nodding.

"Good," Sam said beside you, "Got an idea." You heard him shifting around, and when you lifted your head to look at him, you found him kneeling with his heels together and his knees apart. Clearly understanding something you didn't, Dean got excited, and helped you to your knees. He then turned you around and manhandled you along with Sam, until you had your back to Sam's chest, with his arms around your torso to hold you up, something you certainly appreciated as you were a little more rag doll than you had expected. Dean then settled your legs on the outside of Sam's so that your legs were spread obscenely wide and your thighs were resting on his. Apparently pleased with the set up, Dean sat back on his heels to admire the picture you and Sam made. Sam meanwhile had already started kissing your neck, whispering how much he couldn't wait to see both your holes filled with sex toys. Dean reached behind him and grabbed the vibrator. He turned it on to the lowest setting, and trailed it around your nipples, and down your body, building the anticipation. You'd actually never used a vibrator, so you were quite curious as to how this was going to feel. Dean finally dipped the pink rabbit between your legs and started running it along the outside of your hole.

"More," you begged, brokenly, wanting to be filled up again. Ever the people pleaser, Dean promptly started to push the vibrator into your wet channel. You gasped at the sensation, it felt like nothing you'd ever had before, and with the added sensation of the anal plug, you felt beautifully full. And when the ears of the rabbit came into contact with your clit, you felt as though you'd touched a live wire. "Fuck, Dean!" you whimpered. Sam held you still, as Dean slowly fucked you with the vibrator, watching transfixed as it went in and out of you.

"Fuck, you look so good," Dean whispered reverently, almost as if in a trance.

Sam kissed your neck. "You feel full, baby?" he asked.

"Uh-huh, so full, so good. Dean, please, more please!" Dean turned the dial up, and the new wave of vibrations caused you to jerk in Sam's arms.

"Yeah, that's it. Takin' it so good. Just imagine how good it'll feel when it's our cocks, filling you up and pushing into every empty place you have."

"Sam!" you called out, arching and reaching back to clutch at his hair, desperate for something to hold on to. "Need it, please."

"I know, I know. Shhhh. We'll fuck you good after this," he promised. You could feel him filling out again against your lower back, and looking down you saw that Dean was already half hard. "Dean and I'll fuck you so good. We'll get the swing, how does that sound?"

"Sam, please!"

"It's okay, we're gonna fill you up nice and good. Now spread your legs for Dean, and come on the toy," Sam replied steadily.

You were panting, your chest heaving, as you let the feeling of the vibrations between your legs swallow you up. Four times. It hadn't even been two hours, and you could already feel your fourth orgasm starting to wash over you.

"Fucking hell, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Look at her." If you could have opened your eyes, you would have seen Dean's eyes transfixed by the pure pleasure on your face.

"Yeah. Gorgeous, isn't she?" Sam said. Dean nodded. "C'mon, baby. It's time, Dean wants to see you come."

You were moaning constantly now; you didn't think you'd stopped making sounds for the past five minutes. You writhed in Sam's arms, trying to rock your hips against the vibrator, not knowing what you needed as the final push. Then Sam slid a hand up your front to cup your neck, not choking, but stretching your body taut, up and over his, at the same time Dean flicked the vibrations up one more notch and indeed of pumping the vibrator in and out of you, simply held it steady against your clit. You sucked in a deep breath, and screamed. Your whole body went rigid and you felt yourself gush wetness all over the toy. You heard yourself yelling, "Oh god, oh god, oh my god!" over and over and over. Sam held you steady to himself as your orgasm burst through you, from your core all the way out to the tips of your fingers. Dean pulled the toy out of you, and tossed it over his shoulder. He then couldn't seem to help licking off every drop of your essence that had run over onto his fingers. This time it felt like ages until you came down from your high. And this time, far from being tired like your third orgasm had made you, despite your oversensitivity, all you wanted was for Sam and Dean to fill you up. You looked down to see Dean stroking himself slowly, and you could feel Sam's rigid erection against your lower back. It looked like you were going to get your wish. Sam slid you off his lap and onto Dean's. You clung to Dean like a baby koala bear, as you heard Sam stand up behind you.

"I'll go get the swing set up. Y/N, hun, you gonna be alright with Dean?" You nodded, hugging Dean closer, and feeling his arms squeeze around you in return.

"I got 'er, Sammy. Go get everything set up." You heard Sam leave, and laid your head on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, there beautiful," Dean said softly. "How ya doing?"

"Want you inside me," you moaned. You felt Dean's dick twitch in interest, but he made no move to take you up on your offer.

"Yeah, I'll bet you do. You've been without Winchester cock for too long, huh?"

"I shouldn't have pushed you away," you said softly, remembering the hurt look on both of the boys' faces when you'd let them know that their respective one night stands were just that, _one night _stands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Hey, hey," Dean said soothingly, rubbing your back gently. "It's fine, okay. We're fine. Don't get all mushy on me here. C'mon, that's the first rule of threesomes, don't get sappy before you get dp'ed." You laughed, and Dean groaned. "Okay, don't do that either though."

You suppressed a giggle. "So no emotion at all?"

"None."

"Like a robot?"

"Full on R2-D2," Dean confirmed.

"Dean, I left you alone with Y/N,_ naked_, for two minutes, and you're somehow already talking about Star Wars?" Sam said, coming back into the room.

"It came up organically," you defended.

"I would believe that if this wasn't the third time he'd done it," Sam said mutinously.

"Really?" you said pulling back to look at Dean.

"Swing's up, right?" Dean asked ignoring your question.

"Yeah, yeah, swing's up. You want me to-"

"Nah, I got her," Dean said rolling back onto his heels and somehow standing up with you in his arms. You continued to cling to Dean until you got to the doorway. There was a complicated looking mess of black straps hanging from a bar, but Sam insisted it was perfectly easy to get into. He and Dean worked together to thread your arms and legs through all the appropriate holes, strapping the final bands around your torso.

"You sure this'll hold me?" you asked looking up at the bar dubiously.

"Absolutely," Sam said confidently, tugging on one of the straps.

Once you were secured, Dean looked you in the eye. "Ready?" he asked. You nodded, and they stepped away, letting your whole weight fall into the swing. Much to your surprise you felt entirely secure. You twisted a little and didn't feel any shakiness in the bar. Satisfied you nodded at Dean, and he and Sam both stepped back towards you.

This time it was Sam's turn to ask, "Ready?" as he tapped the base of your plug.

"Yes. God, yes." Sam slowly pulled the plug out, and you immediately felt empty. But he didn't waste any time, and just a moment later Sam refilled you with two slicked up fingers.

"I'm gonna get you to take three and then I'll fuck you, all right?" Sam said.

You wriggled in the straps, "No, Sam, now please. I'm ready."

"No you're not," Sam said firmly, pushing his two fingers in and out of you.

You pouted at Dean who was standing in front of you looking amused. He shook his head, looking just as resolute as you imagined Sam was at this moment. "Nu-uh sweetheart, Sammy's right, you're not ready yet. Hold in there, he'll get you to three quick enough."

It did not feel quick enough, as Sam's finger's prepped you and all you felt was an aching emptiness without them filling you. Then finally, _finally, _you felt the brush of Sam's ring finger against your puckered hole. "Yes, Sam, please!" you started to beg, getting more and more desperate as Sam's three fingers pushed slowly into you, so close, yet so far away from the fullness you actually wanted.

"Hold on. Hang ing there, almost done," Dean said, stepping in and brushing your hair back from your face when your begging began to sound truly wretched. "You're almost there, babe. Just hold on a little longer. Hey, look at me, just a little longer." You nodded, trying to focus on Dean's face instead of the unending teasing that Sam was subjecting you to.

Minutes. Hours. Years later. You weren't sure. But eventually, Sam pulled all three of his fingers out and you heard the snap of a bottle being opened, followed by the slick sound of Sam lubing himself up. Sam stepped in behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, while Dean rubbed your legs up and down. You felt as though you were going to implode from the suspense of it all. At last, you felt the head of Sam's cock at your entrance, and with his characteristic slow precision, he started to push himself inside you. Even after all of that prep, it stung a little, but you were so happy to have Sam finally seated inside you that you couldn't bring yourself to care. The moment that Sam bottomed out, Dean started to push himself inside your pussy. He let out a bone deep groan, and you smiled. You loved how vocal Dean was. When Dean bottomed out, you all stood there for a moment, pressed up against one another, and you couldn't help but feel more complete than you'd ever felt in your life. You felt the heat from their bodies surrounding you, Sam completely covering your back, and Dean pressing up against your front. Dean bent his head and captured your lips in a kiss; Sam started pressing light kisses to the side of your neck. Their hands were everywhere. It felt like _they _were everywhere. Inside. Outside. All you knew was Sam and Dean.

Then they started to move.

Slowly at first. Moving in synchrony, they started to thrust in and out of you shallowly. You cried out into Dean's mouth. It was overwhelming. Feeling both of them moving inside you at the same time. The familiar, warm feeling of Dean filling your pussy contrasted beautifully with the sharper, less familiar pleasure of Sam filling your ass. You instinctively wanted to focus all of your attention on what was happening between your legs, but Sam and Dean's hands, mouths and bodies, kept pulling your focus back out to the broader picture. Sam's hands gripping your hips tight. Dean's fingers gently pinching your nipples. Dean's tongue in your mouth, twining with yours. Sam's teeth nipping along your neck. It all pulled your focus back out to _who _was doing this to you. Sam Winchester, the once-Boy-King with desecration and danger running through his veins, who was also the most altruistic and caring human being you'd ever met. Dean Winchester, a former Knight of Hell, self loathing and intemperate, who was also the very definition of purposeful love, a love that sacrifices, and saves, and helps. These were your lovers. These were your boys. They were why this was so much more than sex. This was connection.

The all encompassing heat of Sam and Dean pressed in on you, so much of their bare skin on yours. You attempted to moan both their names into Dean's mouth, not entirely sure how else to release the intense waves of sensation. As time went on, Sam and Dean's thrusts started to get out of synch, resulting in more of a complimentary rhythm, where Dean filled you when Sam did not, and vice versa. This rhythm was somehow even more absorbing, one of them was always pulling out, and one of them always pushing in. Dean pushing in and Sam pulling out. Sam pushing in and Dean pulling out. Over and over again in unending circles. You let your head fall back against Sam's shoulder. Having lost your mouth, Dean kissed his way down your neck, sucking a hickey just under your jaw. You hung there in the swing finally letting the waves of sensation from Sam and Dean's twin thrusts pull you under. You felt as though you were floating. Ripples of pleasure, large and small, poured through you. You felt so _full._ So unbelievably filled to the brim. You heard Sam muttering something in your ear, but couldn't rouse yourself enough to focus on exactly what words he was saying. You simply let the baritone of his voice pour over you, just another layer of sensation. You dimly noticed that their thrusts had become uneven. Dean was panting against your throat, his breath fanning out over your skin. Sam was keeping up a stream of consciousness dirty talk, and nipping every part of you that he could get at. If you had still been possessed of full use of your mental faculties, you would have realized that all of these were signs of them getting close to orgasm. You were, however, only aware of your own orgasm was building underneath your skin. You were surprised; long time fantasy or not, you had not expected to come during this round. You had simply come so much already. Nonetheless, you could feel it approaching with startling speed. Later Sam and Dean would inform you that at this point you had started making some truly breathtaking sounds. ("Spank Bank Hall of Fame level," Dean would say, pointing to his head.) Unaware for the moment of how loud you were getting, your focus had finally narrowed down to the sensations going on between your legs. The feel of Sam and Dean's cocks moving in and out of you filled the entirety of your thoughts. Partially due to that added concentration, when Sam pushed in deep and came inside you just moments later, the feeling and idea of his pleasure was so overwhelming, that it triggered your orgasm as well. Dean of course, could not be expected to last after having observed both your and Sam's orgasms up close, so he pushed inside you deeply, and came as well.

Still feeling warm and detached, after your orgasm, you added "sleepy" to the list. You felt the boys pulling you out of the harness, and apparently mumbled something that made Sam laugh. You were in Sam's arms, and at some point had hit the stairs. He carried you up them, and you could hear Dean following behind. At the top of the stairs, Sam turned and walked you down the hall to his bedroom. He laid you out on his extra large king bed, while Dean pulled the covers over you. You didn't have long to miss the feeling of them against you, because they immediately snuggled in against you on either side. You laid your head down on Dean's chest, and within seconds, you were out like a light. You could discuss what all of this meant tomorrow. And perhaps more importantly, you could write Deb a very long thank you note.


	15. Surprise sex- DeanCas

**Summary: **When Dean has to go on a plane, again, this time with Cas as company, he has a much better experience.  
>(This fic could also be referred to as: the time that Cas realized that sex is the answer to at least sixty percent of Dean's problems.)<p>

**Warning: **panty kink, sex on a plane, sex toys

"Shit, Cas," Dean whispered looking down to where Cas had pulled down his pants just enough to show Dean the lacy blue panties he was wearing. Cas didn't say anything, and Dean sat there frozen, trying his best not to reach down and start touching Cas. He was so distracted he almost forgot that- "We're on a fucking plane, Cas."

"I know," Cas replied evenly. "I thought perhaps this would distract you. Sam mentioned that you had a fear of flying."

Damnit Sammy. "Well great fucking job, Poirot," Dean whispered tersely, trying not to be overheard, "You solved the mystery of how to get me distracted. Now I'm hard _and _about to die in this dumbass metal tube, much better."

"Planes are remarkably safe Dean, far more so than cars," Cas said, trying to be comforting.

Cas had already told him this. Sam had told him this. Everyone had told him this. Did they think he could just logic his heart into not trying to pound out of his chest? Jesus, why the fuck did Sammy have to touch that stupid cursed amulet. And why did the solution have the be in England? And why the fuck did Cas have to be a goddamn human again? Dean wanted to beat the shit out of all the various events that had had to line up to force him into this flying sardine can of death.

"Also, I don't plan to leave you unsatisfied, Dean," Cas said, palming Dean's crotch. "As you pointed out, that would be counterproductive." Dean was suddenly very glad that there was no one else in their row.

"Fuck, Cas. You can't just give me an Old Fashioned right out in the open."

"I don't intend to," Cas said leadingly, with one last squeeze of Dean's hard cock. Glancing around to make sure that there were no flight attendants headed their way, Cas grabbed Dean's hand, and casually placed it down the back of his sweatpants (which Dean had noticed earlier in the day with confusion. He'd tried to talk Cas out of wearing sweatpants out of the house, but Cas had been oddly resolute about his fashion choice. Dean supposed he now knew why.) Cas pushed Dean's hand down further, until his fingers reached- "Holy shit," Dean muttered. His fingertips were currently touching the plastic base of what was clearly a butt plug that Cas had inserted into himself. "Son of a bitch, Cas." Dean said, trying to stay quiet, "You trying to kill a guy?"

"Quite the opposite," Cas said, clearly pleased with Dean's reaction. He pulled a slim remote out of his pocket, and gave it to Dean, who took it with the hand that was _not _currently shoved down an ex-angel's pants. "I thought this would be more than engaging enough to distract you for the duration of our flight."

"What is it?" Dean looked at the clearly high end, almost entirely smooth, black remote.

"Press it," Cas said lowly, with an anticipation that Dean didn't understand.

Looking at Cas suspiciously, Dean did. They both jumped. Dean couldn't hear anything, but he could suddenly feel a low hum of vibration run through his fingertips, the same fingertips that were touching the plug in Cas's ass. It was a vibrating plug. Cas was going full kamikaze on this, he wasn't just going to kill Dean, he was taking himself down too.

Cas shifted in his seat. "Feel free to amuse yourself for the rest of the flight."

Dean blinked at Cas. Still so shocked that his brain was entirely offline. He wasn't entirely sure how long he sat there staring at Cas, but the next thing he knew, Cas was gently pulling Dean's hand's from the back of his pants. "Yes, we'd both like a ginger ale. Thank you," he heard Cas say. Dean whipped his head up. There was a flight attendant standing there. Standing right there while Dean was having a mid-flight crisis because his boyfriend had shoved a vibrating plug up his own ass to amuse Dean. Dean managed a nod was apparently close enough to normalcy that the flight attendant left without a word.

"Fuck Cas, fucking hell," Dean said, breathing out a sigh of relief when she left.

"I thought a ginger ale would calm your stomach."

"I'm not talking about the drink, Cas."

Cas's eyes lit up and he rolled his hips very slightly, but suggestively, "Do you want to play with your toy, Dean?"

Dean eyed Cas, unable to avoid picturing him naked. If you had told Dean Winchester five weeks ago that once he and Cas started sleeping together that Cas would be more insatiable than himself, he would have laughed in your face. Dean had kept his desire for Cas bottled up for so long, that he had been certain that when he and Cas finally slept together, _he_ was going to be the one to turn into an incorrigible horn dog. But it hadn't been him, it had been _Cas_. From the first time they slept together onward, Cas was the one constantly implying that they should go to bed together. Dean had never been happier; Cas seemed to want sex for everything. For connection, for pain relief, for the joy of orgasms, for information, for exploration, for love, for understanding, and apparently for keeping Dean distracted on a plane.

Once Dean's brain caught up to his dick, Dean decided he was on board with this plan. Hell, he hadn't thought about the fact that they were flying _once _since this whole thing started. Flicking his eyes up to Cas's, somehow completely neutral face, he pressed a button on the remote. He saw Cas's eyes slide shut momentarily, before he forced them open again, staring Dean down. Dean's eyes slid down to Castiel's lips, and he couldn't help leaning in to kiss him. Solely through mutual, forced restraint did they keep the kiss short, and unsuspicious. Once they pulled back, Dean settled into his seat, and reached over to take Cas's hand in his.

The flight attendant soon returned with their ginger ales, and Dean spent the next hour slowly sipping his drink and playing with the vibrations on Cas's toy. He watched the progression of staying still and quiet getting harder and harder for Castiel. And whenever they talked, Dean could hear a quiver in Cas's voice that spoke to his struggles to keep his voice even. Dean grinned at him, he liked this. Taking Cas apart piece by piece. He always liked making Cas come, but this was new. A moment later, Dean was the one to jump, after turning the plug up again, he found Cas's lips on his neck. Dean bit his lip, trying desperately not to let a moan out, despite the surprise. Before he had a chance to recover from the first shock, Cas handed him another, "Meet me in the restroom, two minutes," Cas murmured, and then he was gone.

So turned on that he didn't trust himself to keep time properly, Dean set the stopwatch hand on his watch. It was the longest two minutes of his life. He kept glancing at his watch, sure that _this time _two minutes would have passed. When the timer hit a minute fifty, Dean finally said, "Fuck it, close enough," and scrambled out of his seatbelt. He looked around, and saw that all the flight attendants were apparently still at the front. That obstacle out of the way, Dean turned and walked the short distance to the toilet. When he opened the door and slipped in, he found Cas bent over slightly, pants down, lacy panties stretched over the back of his thighs, fingering his own ass. Cas looked over his shoulder at Dean as he shut the door. Cas let out a quiet whine and hitched his hips back towards him, "Fuck me, Dean."

Son of a bitch. That would never stop being hot.

Dean quickly pulled his pants down, and pulled his dick out. He looked up and saw a small travel sized bottle of lube on the counter. So _that _was why they'd been getting looks from that one guard when they went through security. Dean honestly couldn't give less of a fuck right now. He grabbed it and slicked himself up. "Ready, Cas?" he asked lowly. Cas nodded frantically and pushed his hips back towards Dean. Poor guy had to be dying for it. Dean lined himself up and pushed in. Cas let out a choked sound. Speed was clearly the name of the game here, so Dean didn't hold back, fucking into Cas hard and reaching around to stroke his cock. Cas was clearly struggling not to moan, letting out all of these little aborted sounds (something Dean found all manner of hot). There was a certain joy in being allowed to fall into Cas's heat with abandon, not trying to hold his orgasm back, but racing towards it full pelt. And Cas felt so hot and tight around him (as he always did) that Dean was sure he wouldn't last long at all. In what Dean was sure was record time, he felt Cas tense up and spill over his fingers. Dean followed behind him only a couple thrusts later (he had to lean forward and bite Cas's sweater covered shoulder to keep himself quiet.) With no time to waste letting themselves come down, they cleaned themselves off as best they could with a pair of wet wipes Cas had had the foresight to bring along, and straightened their clothes. Praying that the coast was still clear, Cas left first, pecking Dean on the lips. After waiting a full minute, Dean left the bathroom too. Luckily there was no one around when he got out, and after sitting down next to Cas, he learned that Cas had been in the clear too.

Sleepy from his orgasm, Dean laid his head down on Cas's shoulder. Clearly wanting more cuddling, Cas pulled up the arm rest and flung an arm around Dean, pulling Dean's head to his chest. Dean snuggled closer to Cas, throwing an arm around his waist, simply too tired to care about what a sap he must look like. Dean fell asleep with the sound of Cas's heartbeat in his ear, feeling more relaxed than he could ever have imagined being on an airplane.


	16. Dry humping- SamReader

**Summary: **You meet Sam at a party, and hit it off. Next thing you know, you're making out against the wall, and desperate to take things further. Just one problem, your roommate already has dibs on the dorm room for the night. With only a secluded hallway to work with, you and Sam get creative.

**Warnings: **semi-public dry humping

You could feel the beat from the loud house party music pulsing through you as you made out with the handsome stranger you'd met just a few hours ago. You rolled against him in time with the music wishing desperately that your stupid roommate hadn't already claimed your shared room hours ago. You were so fucking horny, and the best you and Sam had been able to do was find a fairly secluded hallway. It was remote enough, that there wasn't anyone around at the moment, but you weren't removed enough that you felt comfortable doing anything that involved removing clothes. You and Sam seemed to be on the same page, because while he was clearly _very _turned on at the moment, he was making no move to take off either your clothes or his.

Sam was currently rolling his hips in tandem with yours, while he held your wrists up over your head with his frankly enormous hands. What you wouldn't give to have those fingers inside you. You ground yourself against him, dying for some friction. Sam moaned into your mouth, his tongue hot and heavy against yours. He pushed his thigh in between yours, giving you something better to grind against. You sighed pleasurably, and started to rub yourself against Sam's jean clad leg like a cat in heat. You had never been gladder that you'd chosen to wear a skirt despite the freezing temperatures. You started to feel a warmth in your center, as having Sam's thigh up against you finally gave you the friction you'd been craving. Things got more heated when Sam started to kiss his way down your throat, nipping and sucking, while bringing his hands down to cup your breasts in them. You bit your lip trying to restrain the cry that wanted to erupt from your mouth at Sam's handling of your body. Sam pressed himself into you more firmly, and started to thrust his erection against your hip, clearly seeking some friction of his own. You couldn't hold back your sounds at that, and your whimper earned a responding growl from Sam.

You wanted to fuck him. You wanted to fuck him so bad. Since you couldn't have that, you just ground yourself down against his thigh harder. Sam continued to suck at your neck, searching out all of your sweet spots, until you were crying out his name softly.

"Fuck," you heard him mutter, seemingly involuntarily, "You're so damn hot."

You simply moaned in response, thinking the same thing about him. He was this perfect mix of sweet and sexy. On the one hand he was fucking huge, made of pure muscle, and clearly pretty rough in bed. On the other hand he had puppy dog eyes and dimples, and he was clearly incredibly kind. You couldn't get your mouth to say any of that though. All you seemed to be able to manage was, "Want you." Sam groaned at that, and leaned down to kiss you again, swiveling his hips against yours. When he pulled back and looked at your face, you couldn't help but say it again. "Want you, Sam."

You could practically see the wheels turning in Sam's head, trying to think of a place where the two of you could have sex. When a look of intense frustration crossed his face, you knew he hadn't been able to think of anything either. With a grunt, he grabbed the back of your legs, and hoisted you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and he ground himself against you. "Is this-"

"Yes," you panted. "Yeah, this is good."

"Maybe later we could-".

You nodded. "Yeah, later," you said, cutting him off and impatiently pressing yourself against his hard on. Sam groaned, and dropped his head to the crook of your neck. Yeah, you would definitely make sure there was a later. With a room. And fewer clothes. For now, this was good enough. Swamped by hormones and desire, you humped your hips against Sam's, trying to find the right angle for his clothed cock to press against your clit. Sam bit the crook of your neck to keep himself quiet, and thrust back against you. You let your head fall back against the wall as you got lost to sensation. The feel of Sam's huge hands grabbing your ass to hold you up. The heat of his body radiating against you through all your shared layers. The steady thump of the music vibrating through your body. The constant thrum of _goodgoodgood_ as Sam pushed his cock against your panty covered pussy. You didn't know that you'd be able to come like this, but it certainly felt damn good.

Sam kept rolling his hips against you, trailing his dick over your center again and again. You both stayed there, slowly melting into one another, letting the music wash over you, for god knows how long. Eventually though, you felt the quality of Sam's thrusts change. You could feel his hips start to hitch, and along being able to feel his breath increasing, you could tell that Sam was getting close to coming. When ten minutes passed and he was moaning into your shoulder almost constantly, but hadn't come yet, you realized that he was trying to hold off. He was trying to wait for you to come. That was very sweet. You weren't going to come though, not like this. While you felt good, and were certainly very turned on, you just couldn't come without some kind of direct stimulation.

"It's alright Sam. Come," you said. You felt Sam grit his teeth (he'd been simply resting his head against your shoulder for quite a while now), and he shook his head. You carded your fingers through his hair, and pulled his head up to look you in the eye. You felt a shudder run through his body when he looked at your face. God, that was flattering. "I can't come like this, Sam," you said gently. "It's alright. Really."

Sam shook his head again. This boy was damn determined. You could see him thinking again. He looked down to where the two of you were pressed together. He licked his lips and looked back up at you. "Can I- can I put my hand in your panties? No one will see anything if they come around the corner. My body's blocking you," he said, still breathless. He was so earnest, and you were so turned on, at this point you almost didn't care if anyone saw. You nodded enthusiastically. Sam smiled his dimpled grin, made a little darker by lust, and shifted you so that he could hold you up with just one hand. Once he had a hand free he wasted no time in pushing it inside your panties. You felt his fingers exploring a bit, learning your topography. When his fingers reached your hole, Sam let his eyes drop down to your pussy, and let out a, "Holy _fuck_ you're wet." You did your best not to wriggle at the new sensations, not wanting to make it harder for Sam to hold you, but it was really hard when he said stuff like that. Sam dipped the tip of one finger into you and brought your own wetness back up to your clit. He started tracing along the outside of your clit and you shuddered. You saw him grin at your reaction, and he started pulsing his hips against yours again. You watched as lust overtook Sam's face again. He rubbed closer and closer to your clit, until he was massaging it directly. You couldn't help but let out a moan at that, "Sam!"

Sam smiled, before leaning in to kiss you. You moaned into his mouth, as he rubbed your slippery clit faster and faster. The addition of that direct stimulation was all you needed, and it wasn't long before you could feel yourself getting close to the edge. Sam was clearly just barely holding on as well. He was fucking himself against your clothed body with jerky thrusts. You were quite frankly amazed at his self discipline. You moaned again, picturing Sam fucking you for real. The image of Sam's naked body thrusting into yours was the straw that broke the camel's back. You came. You felt shudders wrack your body, and you came and came and came. Sam's fingers stuttered against you, and you could feel him finally come as well. He groaned loudly into your mouth and stilled against you. Panting hard you drew back from one another. You practically wanted to come all over again at the sight of Sam's glazed eyes and flushed cheeks. Sam seemed to feel similarly looking at you. He slowly pulled his hand out of your panties and licked his fingers lasciviously, still keeping eye contact with you. You moaned. This fucker. Sam grinned at you, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing. This motherfucker.

You slapped him on the chest, smiling back, "You tease."

"Oh, I plan to deliver."

"That a promise?"

"You think you can get your roommate out for a couple hours tomorrow night?"

"Hell yeah, she owes me big."

"Then yes, that's a promise."

You grinned, awash in post coital glow, and leaned up to kiss Sam lightly. "Good, see you at seven."


	17. Teasing- GabrielCastielSam

**Summary: **Quite frankly, Gabriel thinks Cas is adorable in bed. Gabriel finds him especially endearing when he's grace-bound to the bed, completely spread eagled, but still growling orders. Cute.

Sam is just happy that Cas is naked. He could stare at him all day. And all night. Really just forever. If he didn't need sleep he probably would.

As for Cas? Well, he can't decide if Gabriel's creativity regarding his grace is a good thing or the best thing to ever happen to him. Which is why he's particularly peeved when Gabriel kicks off the night by spending an hour not using it at all.

**Warnings: **scent kink, a bit of grace kink, anal sex, light d/s

Cas was currently bound spread eagled, completely naked to the bed, glaring as though the sheer force of his gaze could poke holes in Gabriel.

"Not gonna get me to go faster by scowling, Cassie," Gabriel said lightly.

Cas continued to glower at the archangel. "Move."

Gabriel laughed. "Move," he said lowly imitating Cas. "Got a _pretty_ strong bossy streak there, kiddo. Especially for someone who _asked_ to be tied down and teased. You hearin' this Sam?" he asked, looking at Sam over his shoulder.

Sam was currently sitting in a chair, shirt off, rubbing himself teasingly over his sweatpants. "Yeah, Gabriel. I hear him," Sam replied, turning his cat eyed gaze to Cas. Sam knew that this was just how Cas was in bed. He reverted to the glaring, feather ruffling, stubborn Cas that Sam had met all those years ago. And especially with Gabriel around, taking the piss out of someone _that _serious was just too easy.

"I am notbossy," Cas spoke up peevishly. Sam smirked bemusedly. "I am _not, _Sam. I simply expect to be touched when naked and in a sexual position."

"If you wanted that, then you, my friend, signed up for the wrong kink," Gabriel joked.

"We _did _let you choose, Cas," Sam supplied. "If you're regretting it, you can always tap out," he said gently.

"I did not expect that "teasing" would entail a complete lack of stimulation," Cas said, entirely avoiding talk of his safeword, which had been set up for this situation. It was their first time doing anything remotely dom/sub like, and Sam had wanted to be safe.

"Oh! He wants some "stimulation." What do you think, Sam-o? Should I give it to him?"

Cas saw the edge of Sam's lips quirk upwards again, and got the feeling that maybe he'd made a mistake. Sam knew more about how Gabriel acted in these kinds of situations, than Cas did. While Cas and Gabriel had been angels together for some time before Gabe had gone AWOL, Sam was the one who knew Gabriel better as a sexual being. The two of them had been in a relationship before Cas came along and got added in. And although Cas was now on equal footing with both of them, Sam still had more experience in these situations and often knew things that Cas didn't. So when Cas saw Sam's smirk, he had a feeling he had unknowingly made quite a large misstep.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, Gabe, go ahead."

Gabriel turned his golden gaze back to Castiel's naked body. Cas saw Gabriel's eyes track up and down his body lasciviously, but he still made no move toward Castiel. Cas had no idea, but spread out on a bed like this, he was a thing of beauty, both to angel and human eyes. When Sam looked at him, he saw tanned skin and strong muscles, stretched out to the corners of the bed. You could practically see the underlying anatomy, the way the muscles corded and wove together, an abundance of hard planes, lines, and curves that would make Michelangelo weep. Sam especially loved the muscles of Cas's stomach, and the twin lines of his abductors leading down to his cock. Cas's cock stood full and aroused, long and wickedly curved upwards, it rose from a thatch of black hair, and Sam had trouble looking at it without wanting it in his mouth. Finally, when Sam looked at Cas, he saw a pair of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen blazing at him with an otherworldly passion that he felt as though he could never get his fill of. When Gabriel looked at Cas, he saw all these things and more. Layered overtop he saw golden wisps of grace encircling his entire body. He saw the shadow of Cas's great dark wings, not fully realized without effort on this plane. He saw the pulsating essence of Cas's soul burning a vivid cerulean blue, just over his human heart. He saw his true face along with his human one.

And both faces were broadcasting irritation right now.

Loud and clear.

Cas was always so fun to tease. Gabriel let some of his grace flow over Cas's skin, and Cas moaned. He searched out all of Cas's sensitive spots and made it feel like there were mouths sucking on every single one. Cas tried to arch into the sensation that was at once too much and not enough. It was Sam's turn to groan. One of his favorite things was to watch Cas's body twist and writhe, being able to watch without another body blocking the view was heaven.

"Such a voyeur, Sammy."

"Exhibitionist," Sam shot back.

"That I am. How about you, Cas? What are you in all this?"

"Frustrated," Cas deadpanned. His eyes shut against the barrage of sensation. It felt as though there were _at least _thirty mouths, sucking and nipping every erogenous zone he had, from the backs of his knees to the tip of his cock. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes since Gabriel started, but already Cas felt himself getting desperate for some more stable stimulation, something that would let him finish.

"You wanna make a donation to the Clinton Library already, bro? You're usually such a love machine." It was true, Cas's self discipline when it came to orgasms was so perfect it almost seemed mechanical. It seemed as though the hour spread out naked and not being touched had _really _affected Cas more than he'd let on. Sam knew Cas was really feeling needy when he didn't even respond to Gabriel's "love machine" snark, he simply rolled his head back and moaned again, trying to push into the invisible mouths. "Boy, you are really panting for it aren't you, Cassie?" Gabriel said, voicing Sam's exact thoughts. Gabriel _must _have done something, because the next thing Sam knew, Cas had sunk back into the bed with a groan that was somehow both more and less frustrated. "Sammy, why don't you go give our boy some attention. You've been staring at his lollipop for the past hour."

Sam rolled his eyes. He had never known just how many candies could be made into sexual innuendoes before he'd started in with Gabriel. _Now_ he knew. He wished he could go back to not knowing; it was a simpler time, a time when he could look at gummy bears and not think about sex. Oh well, he sighed internally. He _was_ excited to get his mouth on Cas, so he decided not to say anything to Gabriel about his choice of words. He stood and started to walk over to the bed, before Gabriel grabbed him by the elbow as he tried to pass. "Hold on bucko, pay the pants toll."

"The pants- Gabriel, then everyone will be naked except for you."

"There's a way to fix that, you know," Gabriel asked waggling his eyebrows and starting to unbutton his shirt. Sam smiled, unable to stop himself from leaning down and kissing Gabriel. He licked his way into Gabe's hot mouth, and let his hands drop to start working on the angel's pants. He shoved down his boxers and pants in one go, letting gravity help him when he couldn't reach that low. Getting lost in Gabriel's body and completely forgetting about Castiel, Sam wrapped one large hand around Gabriel's manhood and started to stroke. Gabriel growled into the kiss and started playfully nipping along Sam's jaw. Sam felt his hands start to drift down his chest and abdomen, heading for his sweatpants. Gabriel shoved them off leaving both Sam and himself naked. Sam moaned loudly when Gabriel took his cock in hand and started to stroke him lazily. Sam could also feel his grace pushing at his puckered hole. Sam groaned, "Gabriel," his hips pushing backwards and forwards, uncertain what sensation to push into.

Cas meanwhile was dying a slow, sexually frustrated death. This was worse than the mouths. Watching his two lovers, Sam and Gabriel, wrapped around one another, while he was pinned, completely unstimulated, to the bed. Unable to join in. Unable to touch himself. Unable to do anything. He was doing his best to stay controlled and quiet, but it wasn't long before he was unconsciously letting out little whimpers on every exhale, as got more and more absorbed in the scene before him. Sam was moaning now, and Cas couldn't think of anything but that. He let out a responding moan of his own. It must have been pretty loud, because both Gabriel and Sam turned to look at him.

"Heya, Cassie. Having fun yet?" Gabriel asked smoothly. Sam meanwhile was panting, beside him clearly not as well put together after their little make out session.

"Touch. Me." Cas said in his best commanding voice. Sam shuddered with arousal and generally reacted the way that Cas wanted. Gabriel however, did not.

Putting a hand on Sam's chest, he told him, "Pop a squat, sasquatch. I'm gonna go have a little talk with Spring Awakening over there." Sam stumbled back a little. Call it craving to be holy. Call it some leftover belief in the power of angels. Call it an instinctive bowing to true power after years of seeing the fake stuff. Call it whatever you like, but the one being that Sam seemed willing to submit to in the bedroom was angels. Gabriel mostly, but unless Gabriel intervened, Cas could also have Sam on his knees with a single word. At the moment Gabriel was intervening, so Sam sat down heavily in the chair, and clearly turned on, started to stroke himself lazily.

Cas shivered at the power casually radiating off of Gabriel as he walked towards him, his golden wings shining through the veil between the planes more strongly than they had at the beginning of the night. Castiel instinctively arched up, trying uselessly to get himself closer to Gabriel, who was finally sitting down at the edge of the bed. "I know, bro. I know," Gabriel said, smoothing a hand up his stomach. "I see you're craving some dick, huh? Want a one way ticket to pound town, do ya?" Cas was so distracted by having a hand on him, that he couldn't formulate a response to Gabriel's vulgarities. He continued smoothing his hand up and down Castiel's body, ignoring any of his more sensitive areas. All the same, Cas was getting ridiculously turned on. Gabriel leaned in to whisper in Cas's ear. "What do you say we put on a little show for our Sam, hmm? You know how he likes to watch." Castiel let out a strangled moan and nodded. "Gotta tell me what you want, Cas," Gabriel said, reaching down to tug on Cas's cock. Cas hissed out Gabriel's name, and shoved his hips up violently, determined to feel more of Gabriel's hand around him. Gabriel laughed, "Man, dad not being around really did a number on your manners, huh?" He stroked Cas's cock steadily, pushing his hips back down with his grace. "Think back, Castiel. What do we say when we want something?"

"Please," Cas gritted out.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Gabriel asked taking his hand off Cas's cock to cup his ear mockingly, pretending to lean in closer to listen.

"I said, please, touch me, Gabriel," Castiel said more clearly, his tone still unsubservient.

"Weeelllllll-"

"Gabriel, for godssake!" Sam yelled, surprising no one in the room by being the first to break.

"Lord's name in vain," Gabriel called over his shoulder, tsking. "Dad would be so disappointed."

"He can smite me later then. I'm going to do it now, if you don't get moving."

"Aw, Sam. Full of so much of that human impatience."

"Gabriel," Sam said warningly.

"Alright, alright. Cool your jets, big boy, I'm going." And boy, did he go. He used his powers to pop between Cas's spread thighs in the blink of an eye, and with one long lick, sucked Cas's cock into his mouth. Both Sam and Cas groaned at that. Gabriel smiled around Cas and started to bob up and down. Cas felt the invisible mouths from before come back, and at the pace Gabriel was going, he was going to be lucky if he lasted one whole minute. Cas yelled Gabriel and Sam's names, and started trying to buck against the grace holding his hips down with no success. Just as he felt himself about to come, Gabriel pulled off and Cas felt a tightness around the base of his cock and balls. Gabriel waited until Cas's orgasm began to recede, then Cas felt the tightness leave his base, and Gabriel's mouth was back on him. Gabriel sucked him down, using his talented mouth until Cas was just a hair's breadth away from coming, and pulled away again. "No coming yet, Castiel," he said. "Hey, that goes double for you gigantor," Gabriel said looking over at Sam, who did indeed look uncomfortably close to coming. Sam started, and Cas guessed that Gabriel had just fitted him with an invisible cock ring too. Sam groaned, but didn't protest. Gabriel sat there, uncharacteristically quiet, and waited for Cas's need to come to back down again. Once it had, he sucked him into his mouth again, this time starting to deep throat him. Cas was moaning non-stop, trying to writhe in his bonds. What Gabriel was doing to him felt amazing. He was sure he was going to be allowed to come this time. He was getting so close. He felt himself about to fall over the edge when…squeeze. Gabriel had the cock ring back on him. Cas screeched in frustration.

"Whoa, chill, bro. We're almost there. I just need to bring our third wheel in for this last bit." Cas, Sam and Gabriel all frequently referred to each other as third wheels; it was a term of affection among them. Gabriel motioned at Sam, who shot up from his chair and walked to the bed quickly, looking painfully aroused. As Sam walked towards the bed, Cas could feel Gabriel's grace opening him up. By the time Sam got to the edge of the bed, Gabriel had prepped Cas, and was lifting his legs up to expose his hole. Cas groaned, desperate to be filled, still trying to work against the invisible bonds which now held his legs aloft. "I'm gonna, get in him first, then you can join the party, Sam," Gabriel said, realizing his boys were at their limit, and it was time to stop teasing. He reached down to his now lubed cock, and lined himself up with Cas's hole. Cas let out a supremely undignified whimper. Gabriel didn't do anything but smirk, and started to push himself inside Cas. Cas's answering groan was bone deep. Gabriel let out a growl, and bottomed out. He let himself stay seated and still inside Cas for a full minute, before speaking. "Alright, Sammy-boy it's your time to shine." Sam wasted no time lining himself up with Gabriel's, somehow prepped, hole, and pushing in. Sam called out at the sensation, and plastered himself to Gabriel's back. Now that they were all connected, Sam and Gabriel started to move in unison. They would both pull out at the same time, leaving both Gabriel and Castiel woefully empty, and then push back in at the same time. The double sensation of being penetrated by Sam and penetrating Castiel was incredibly intense for Gabriel, and soon he was loud and panting with the rest of them. Thrusting in and out, in and out. Gabriel growled. Sam groaned. Castiel whined. All three awash in sensation.

Castiel felt Gabe's shaft pushing and pulling at his rim, and spearing his prostate with deadly accuracy. He saw Sam and Gabriel's faces shining above him, Gabriel's halo starting to make an appearance as he neared orgasm. Castiel always loved the spiritual connection that physical connection to his lovers brought him. To see Gabriel's wings glow brighter and brighter as he approached orgasm, to hear the archangel in overtaken with such wanton abandon. To see Sam's face morph into one of ecstasy, to see his walls come down in such a concrete way. The intimacy of this seemingly simply human act never ceased to be wondrous to Castiel. To be not only present for, but to be a part of, these two incredibly powerful creatures being so vulnerable, was frankly breathtaking to Castiel. He could never quite believe that he was allowed to witness this.

Sam felt Gabriel's tight, slick, heat surrounding him entirely, and could have been driven over the edge by that alone. But the smell of Cas and Gabriel, transcendent in its intensity, was always one of the most appealing things to him whenever they had sex together. They had tried to explain to Sam that the intensity of sex sometimes allowed certain aspects of their true forms to shine through to such a degree that they became noticeable to humans. They had both been surprised when Sam had said that their smell was what came through for him. Apparently that was quite rare, and even in the heaven scent was often something that was only detected by mates. Sam was still trying to learn all the nuances of angel culture, but he understood enough from their reactions alone to know that this was a very big deal. He was glad that it meant something to Castiel and Gabriel, although as far as he (the only human in the group) was concerned, he didn't need a smell to let him know that they were forever. They did smell spectacular though. It was hard to put everything in human terms, because what they smelled like _was _so clearly metaphysical. But to Sam, Gabriel smelled like sweet cinnamon, cardamom, and something pleasantly metallic. Cas smelled like lily-of-the-valley, smoke from a cedar fire, and light(?). At least those were the closest approximations Sam could come up with. Despite not being able to translate the appeal to anyone else, smelling either Gabriel or Cas, was always an intense sensory experience for Sam, and never failed to ignite a bone deep desire to burrow down and get as close as physically possible to his angels.

Gabriel loved the feeling of being bracketed in by both Sam and Cas. He could feel Sam's blazingly hot skin pressed against his back, while he could feel Cas's slightly cooler thighs against his own as he thrust inside him. Gabriel had always been touch sensitive while in human form. He remembered his first day as a human; he had touched every single thing he encountered, and had even sat, running his hands though some thick grass for over an hour. He had continued to love touching everything, for months afterward unable to pick a favorite, until he had encountered his first human. Touching her had given him a clear favorite. The silky smoothness of her rich brown skin, the way he could feel her moving under his hands, he had never wanted to let her go. Ever since then, touch had always been his go to for pleasure. As he spent more time as a human taste had become another source of great joy for him, but it never wound up surpassing Gabriel's love of physical contact. So now, inundated with the feel of his lover's bodies all around him, Gabriel was understandably ecstatic.

All pulled inexorably forward for different reasons, Gabriel, Castiel, and Sam were all very quickly headed to the same destination. Legs quaking, hearts pounding, and breath coming in quick pants, they were soon just moments away from orgasm. In the end Castiel was the first to fall, painting his own chest with splashes of white come. Feeling Cas clench around him was the final straw for Gabriel, who followed soon after, pushing his hips in deep and coming inside of Castiel, losing his hold on Cas's bonds in the process. After seeing such a display, Sam of course didn't stand a chance and pulled out to come all over Gabriel's round ass. Sweaty and sticky they all collapsed in a heap. For a full ten minutes Gabriel was too tired to magic them clean, and Castiel ended up having to do it. Once they were no longer dirty and gross, they sprawled out on the bed in a vague cuddling pattern. Gabriel slept like a starfish, sprawled out in all directions as per usual. He grasped Sam's (who was a back sleeper) hand in his own and pulled Cas (who was a side sleeper) to his chest. Sam placed his and Gabriel's clasped hands on Gabriel's stomach, so that Cas could reach up and wrap his hand around theirs. Cas and Sam slowly fell asleep, listening to Gabriel softly humming the tune to, "Ooh, Heaven is a Place on Earth."


	18. Opposite sex- Cas10

**Summary: **The Doctor and Cas meet one another when they are reeling through particularly difficult times in their lives. The Doctor has recently lost Rose, and Cas is starting feel human emotions creeping in for the first time. They wind up using one another for comfort, until they can't anymore.

Season 4-Cas  
>Series 3-Doctor<p>

**Warnings: **hurt/comfort, anal sex

Castiel was always the one who topped. Gripping the skinny hips of the man beneath him and simply pounding in. The Doctor would moan, and spout dirty gibberish in a variety of languages until Cas clamped a hand over his mouth, which somehow turned him on more. Cas would grunt, and growl lowly, fucking himself into the Doctor while the smaller man arched his back in an attempt to get him deeper. Sex between Castiel and the Doctor's tenth incarnation had always been a rough pursuit of pleasure. It was all about feeling another body pressed close, and trying to forget for a little while. Every single time was almost ritualistic in its sameness. Every time except their last night together.

The Doctor and Cas had known each other for just under a year. After running into one another in the unlikeliest of ways, they had struck up an odd friendship and started visiting one another occasionally. Sometimes the Doctor would take his TARDIS to earth to meet Cas, and other times Cas would just appear in the control room, typically not having warned the Doctor of his impending visit. When they first started visiting one another regularly, the Doctor kept going to see Cas due to his love of oddities, an angel was certainly virgin territory for him. And Cas kept visiting the Doctor because his TARDIS seemed to be the one place the heavenly host could neither see nor hear him. As time passed, they started to visit one another simply because they enjoyed the other's company. They spent a great deal of time talking about the finer details of the universe, both able to offer insight to the other, despite often not using the same terms. It was an unfortunately difficult time for the TARDIS's translation circuit. A little further down the road and they were visiting one another for a complex variety of reasons. One day, overwhelmed and confused by his increasingly human emotions, Cas had instinctively leaned over and kissed the Doctor. And the Doctor, still reeling from the loss of Rose, had let him. The fact that Cas wasn't one bit like Rose was definitely helpful. There was nothing in Cas's mannerisms, or body, or voice, or face to remind him of _her._ The Doctor suspected that Cas was also transferring his emotions for someone else onto him, although he had no idea who. And so they fell into a pattern of using one another as outlets, and replacements, and bandages, and crutches. It was a difficult time in both of their lives, and while their relationship may not have been the healthiest to start with, it wound up being incredibly healing for both of them. As someone who in many ways wanted desperately to be human, the Doctor was an excellent guide for a new angel learning to deal with human emotions. And as someone who was even older than the Doctor, Cas was sort of a kindred spirit who helped fill the loneliness in the Doctor in a way that not even Rose had been able to.

But eventually they both reached a point where they realized that they were going to have to face the holes they were using one another to fill. It was time for the Doctor to face his life without Rose, and it was time for Cas to live his life apart from his brothers and sisters, on earth. There was a season to everything, and theirs had passed. For their last night together, Cas had requested to bottom, and the Doctor had agreed. For the first time, their coupling was gentle and slow. They kissed each other slowly, taking their time removing one another's clothes, and exploring one another's bodies. The Doctor kissed his way down Cas's chest to his cock, and sucked it into his mouth. He sucked and licked Cas unhurriedly while he got him prepped. Having far greater control over his muscles than any normal human, Cas took very little time to get prepped and soon the Doctor was sliding into him. The Doctor's request for this night had been that, unlike other nights, he and Cas would have sex facing one another. Cas had nodded gravely, which the Doctor took as agreement. The Doctor pumped in and out of Cas slowly, looking into his clear blue eyes and letting the words that neither of them wanted to say hang in the silence between them. He leaned down and kissed Cas softly. They continued to move together, rolling in and out like the tides, until finally the Doctor was swept away and came inside Cas. Cas followed not long after with a cry. They laid their heads against one another, not moving, until the Doctor finally softened and slipped out of Cas.

"Goodbye, my Doctor," Cas said lowly, and then exited the Doctor's life in the same way he had entered it, with a flap of wings, and nothing else. He hadn't wanted to hear the Doctor say it back.

So the Doctor whispered it to an empty room. "Bye, Cas."

Cas and the Doctor never met again after that. But there _were_ a few suspicious scrapes that both of them got out of without really knowing how. Cas never stopped to think, that maybe it was just a good doctor and not God that kept healing him. And for his part the Doctor never suspected that for the rest of his life, he had a guardian angel.


	19. Almost getting caught- SamDean

**Summary: **After being in the same town for a month and a half, Sam and Dean are starting to run into some unexpected problems. For instance, John is now actually around enough to get suspicious the Sam and Dean keep coming home with hickeys from girlfriends he's never met. Sam is trying to convince Dean that a solution could be to maybe, I don't know, just stop leaving so many damn hickeys in the first place! In the middle of discussing the matter shirtless, John comes home early. What follows is Sam and Dean scrambling to come up with an explanation for the things their father keeps noticing.

Heads up: John is, as always, an asshole dad. Don't read if that's gonna be uncomfortable for you.

**Warnings: **underage weecest

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean moaned, writhing in his not so little brother's lap. Sam had really shot up over the past year, something which Dean hated outside of the bedroom, but loved inside of it. He ground himself against Sam, down to nothing but his boxers, and wishing it was less. Sam on the other hand only had his shirt off, a fact that was frustrating Dean to the point of distraction. Sam slipped his hands into the back of Dean's boxers and started palming his ass with his large hands. Dean cursed again and bit down on Sam's neck.

"Dean," Sam admonished, "No hickeys. I told you, dad's not gonna buy that I've got some secret girlfriend for much longer."

"We'll move again soon, Sammy," Dean said grinding himself insistently against Sam.

"We've been here for a month and a half, and dad's still talking to that psychic every day. I don't think we're moving for a while this time." Deep down, Dean admitted that was probably true. Dad had hit a lead with some moody psychic with a ridiculous name that apparently knew quite a bit about demons. He said he kept getting a little more information out of her each day, so he stuck around. It had resulted in the most normal month and a half they'd ever had as a family. Unfortunately for Sam and Dean, it had also meant that dad was actually around enough to get suspicious that _both _of his sons had girlfriends he'd never met. Dean knew there was no way he suspected the truth, but he was clearly starting to get the idea that something was up. Despite all this, Dean kept marking Sam. Sam was eighteen now and went to school everyday without him. Dean was intensely aware of how good looking his brother had become to other people over the years. _Dean_ had always known Sam was attractive, the difference was now everyone agreed with him. It made him possessive. Whenever he and Sammy were together, he just wanted to cover every inch of him with marks, so the world would know he already belonged to someone. Sam usually found it hot too, he liked that Dean cared enough to claim him. But once dad started getting suspicious, Sam had started trying to be the voice of reason in their encounters. Thus far his efforts hadn't been particularly effective. Mostly because if Dean kept it up long enough, Sam gave in and started moaning.

Like now. Dean sucked on his neck one more time and Sam let out a low moan of, "Dean." Gotcha. Sam's fingers started inching towards his hole, and Dean reached down and started to undo Sam's jeans.

He hadn't gotten further than Sam's button when he heard the familiar purr of the Impala outside.

Dad was home early. Dad hadn't been home early in weeks. Dean pulled back from Sam, who clearly hadn't heard the engine yet. Sam looked up at him confused, but Dean only had to say one word to get him to understand, "Dad." Sam's eyes widened, and he started to scramble to get up at the same time as Dean. They narrowly avoided winding up in a heap on the floor. Dean threw his shirt back on, as did Sam. He had just knelt on the couch to reach over the back of it for his jeans which had wound up strewn over a lamp, when he and Sam heard the the distinct jingling of keys. No time left, Sam pushed Dean head over heels, over the back of the couch. Dean flipped over it with an undignified, "Hu-ah!" and landed on his back with a thump. Sam tossed Dean's jean's over the couch after him, where they landed on Dean's face, and then managed to sit down, just as the doorknob turned.

Dean quickly, and silently, struggled into his pants on the floor behind the couch. He got the button and zip up just as he heard his father's voice. "Hey, Sam, where's Dean?"

Before Sam could formulate a lie, Dean popped his head up over the top of the couch. "Here!" he said, breathing heavily, "Sorry-I-uh, lost a quarter."

John looked at him strangely for a moment, until something seemed to occur to him, "Dean, I thought I told you to stop wasting our money on those magic fingers." He said crossing to one of the beds to take his shoes off.

Whew. "It's just a quarter, Dad."

"Yeah, well they add up. Cut it out."

Dean nodded, "Yes, sir," and hopped back over the couch to sit next to Sammy. He was able to relax against the couch, having had time to tuck his boner into the waistband of his jeans. Sam had not been so lucky and was currently doing his best to make his less obvious. Fortunately there Dad didn't seem to notice.

"How'd it go with Madame Puddifoot today, Dad?" Sam asked. That's right, _that _was her name.

"Not good," John said grumpily. "Think she's told me just about everything she knows. We'll probably be hitting the road in a couple of days. There's a new lead down in Albuquerque."

Dean shot an "I told you so" look at Sam, who rolled his eyes. "You boys should probably have a talk with your girlfriends," John continued.

Sam and Dean tried to look solemn, secretly relieved that they'd be moving soon. "You boys are being awfully quiet," John said toeing out of his left boot.

"Just thinking about how I'm gonna miss Jenna," Dean replied. John furrowed his brow, and glanced up at Dean. It wasn't like Dean to get that attached. There was something fishy going on here.

"Yeah, dad, do we have to go?" Sam whined.

"Yes, we really do, Sam. We've been through this enough, you know finding your mom's-" he cut himself off, having finally removed both his shoes and really getting a good look at Sam for the first time since entering the room. "Sam, are those new hickeys on your neck?"

"Uh," Sam said, reaching up to touch his neck.

"Are they still wet?"

"Uuuuhhhh?" Sam said, mind blanking. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

John usually wouldn't care, but he'd been feeling like the boys had been lying to him ever since they hit town. And John Winchester did _not _like being lied to. "Sam, you tell me what is going on here or I'll-"

"He had her back to the motel," Dean blurted out. "Sorry, Sam," he stage whispered.

"You what?" John rounded on Sam. "Sam, you know you can't ever let anyone know where we're staying."

"Yeah, but dad-"

"No. No buts Sam. I want you to break up with that girl right now."

"Now?"

"In front of me, now."

"Dad, no."

"I can't chance you bringing her back here again."

"Dad, I won't I promise," Sam said, trying his best to look distraught.

"Get out your phone."

"Dad, at least let me do it in person. I'll break up with her tomorrow at school, I swear." Even though this was a hypothetical situation, Sam was actually getting pretty pissed at John.

"You just brought a girl back here, I can't trust you to do that. Now call her."

"Fine," Sam said angrily. Unsure of what to do, Sam pulled out his cell and dialed a random number, hoping to god that John wouldn't ask to speak to "Emily".

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Click. "Bueno?"

"Hi, Emily, this is Sam."

"¿Qué? No te entiendo."

"I-uh I'm sorry to be doing this over the phone."

"¿Qué dices? Repites por favor."

"No, no everything's fine. I mean I guess it's not." Sam blew out a breath. He had to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"¿Eres hablando Inglés?"

"Emily, I'm moving."

"No soy, Emily. Soy Carlie. Creo que tienes un número equivocado."

"I know, I know. I'm _sorry_, Emily. Look just calm down."

"No es un 'Emily' aquí."

"Of _course_ this hurts me too. I'm sorry we have to break up but I-" Sam was trying to work himself up to tears, but that was really hard to do with a boner and an increasingly confused Spanish lady talking to you.

"No puedo ayudate." Click.

Sam dropped the phone, grateful that the call had ended before his dad had asked to speak to her. "She hung up," his said in the saddest voice he could muster.

"It's for the best," John said. "Come on boys let's get some dinner. Dean, you can talk to Jenna tomorrow." And as much as he loved his brother, Sam was reminded all over again why he couldn't fucking wait to leave home.


	20. Break upmake up sex- Lestrade Molly

**Summary: **After a particularly awful case with Sherlock, Lestrade is left in the unfortunate position of having believed something egregiously untrue about Molly Hooper. Miscommunications pile up fast, and before either of them know it, they're having a blow out fight.

This fic is half angst, half very loving smut (with just a dash of fluff).

**Warnings: **verbal fighting, angsty break up

"If you would just _listen _Molly," Lestrade said tromping up the stairs after Molly.

"You know better, Greg. You _know _better than to listen to Sherlock," Molly replied continuing on her way up the steps, pointedly not looking back.

"Look Molly just give me a chance to explain."

"Explain? Explain what, exactly? How you believed his lies so whole heartedly that you barged into my flat yelling before I even knew what you were talking about?"

"Molly I'm sorry, about that really, but-"

"Would you rather talk about the way that _you _froze _me _out when I said I didn't know what you were on about."

"Molly, look-"

Having reached the landing, Molly finally spun around and looked at Lestrade with such fire in her misty eyes that he instinctively wanted to take a step backwards. "What Greg? What is it that you think you can say that will make this okay?"

Greg felt like he'd been punched in the gut, hurt and betrayal were written all over Molly's face. He'd done that. This had turned out so much worse than he could ever have imagined. He was so taken aback, that his mind went blank. He simply stared at Molly in shocked silence unable to think of anything to say.

Seeming to take his silence as an admission of guilt, Molly nodded her head. "That's what I thought." She turned and started towards her door.

He couldn't let her leave like this. "Molly, wait-"

She spun on him, somehow angrier than before. "You know what the worst part of it is? With_ nothing_ more to go on than Sherlock's word, you believed the worst of me. The _least _reliable man that you and I know, and all it took was one word from him, and you were willing to believe that I'd been unfaithful. I wouldn't ever do that to you, Greg. Never. If that's what you think of me…" Molly trailed off looking uncertain, before steeling herself. She'd come too far to be with someone who thought this little of her. "Well then you can just think that on your own, away from me."

"Molly." Lestrade said weakly. She couldn't mean…

"I'm-I'm breaking up with you, Greg." She needed to say it, for herself, make it final, or she'd turn back, she knew she would. She missed him already.

"No." Greg thought. Molly had it wrong. He_ hadn't_ believed Sherlock, not at first, but then he'd shown him that video. And John said he had seen… He had to tell her. "I-Molly- I need-"

"Please, Greg, just leave," Molly said fighting to sound strong through her tears as she turned away.

"Molly," Greg said in a broken whisper. But she was through her front door and had it closed with a definitive snick before he could even get her name out.

He crumpled on the stairs. Head in his hands. He felt like he should do something. Molly might feel different if she knew that Sherlock had done more than tell him that Molly had cheated on him. (If this didn't get turned around, he very well thought that he might _actually_ kill Sherlock this time. Of course Sherlock had tried to say that it was all integral to the case, and that six people were alive because of it, but honestly, right now Greg couldn't give less of a fuck about anyone other than Molly.) Lestrade wasn't sure how long he sat on Molly's steps wavering between deep, sucking grief, and frantically trying to think of a way to get Molly to believe that Sherlock had set him up. Slowly the second thought became less and less frequent. Who was he kidding? He'd never deserved her anyway. For god's sake, when Sherlock had told him, he'd rushed to Molly's apartment with his own selfish hurt and anger leading the way. He should have talked to her first. He could have avoided this whole mess. He should just let her go, it was for the best. She deserved to be with someone who was cleverer, more level headed, more trusting. He was just about to stand, when he heard the soft opening of a door behind him.

"Greg?" Molly called gently.

Greg immediately turned to look at her, "Sorry. Sorry, Molls. I-uh- I-uh just needed a minute. I'll be going now. Promise."

"No! I-no, stay. John called." It was just then that Greg noticed that Molly's tone of voice was very different to the last time he'd heard it. Her voice was quiet and unsure, she almost sounded guilty.

Lestrade feared the hope that was already lancing through him at the knowledge the Molly had talked to John. If Molly wanted him, whether she deserved better or not, Lestrade would come running to her side, every time she called. He hoped she was calling. He hoped he hadn't lost her. He didn't want the bright balloon of possibility in his chest to pop, so he just nodded in response to her comment.

"He-John told me. John told me everything. He told me about the doctored video, and what he thought he saw. He feels awful, by the way. He wanted to make sure I knew that _anybody _would have believed what Sherlock was saying with all the evidence he was putting in front of you. John said that even _he _believed it. He just- he wanted to make sure I wasn't blaming you."

"Right." Lestrade replied, evenly. Man, he just had the gift of gab tonight didn't he?

That was when Molly broke down again. "Oh, I'm sorry. Greg, I'm so sorry. You were trying to tell me and I-I-" Molly was having trouble getting words out through her tears. Greg instinctively, bounded across the landing and pulled Molly into his arms, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down her back.

"Hey, hey there. Shh, shh, Molls. 'S'alright. I've got you. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, there _is_. I shouted at you, and then I didn't trust you, and I- Greg, I'm just sorry. I thought I just- I thought-"

"Shh," Greg continued soothing her, "You thought what Sherlock wanted you to think. Just like I did. Pair of gullible fools, eh? Believe me though," his voice turned dark, "I'll be having a talk with the bastard in the morning."

"Not if I get to him first," Molly replied, anger sweeping over her sadness.

Greg smiled and kissed the top of Molly's head. "We can go talk to him together then."

"Talk is a very mild word for what I'm going to do to that idiot."

Greg didn't respond just glad to have Molly in his arms again. He rested his mouth against the top of her head, just breathing in her scent. "I thought I'd lost you," he said, almost to himself. The brevity of that belief having made it no less potent.

Molly pulled back to look up at Lestrade. "Not lost any more," she replied, resting her hand lovingly on his heart.

Greg looked at Molly's warm brown eyes, which were still slightly misty. He let his eyes roam over her face, taking in every detail he'd momentarily feared never seeing again. He leaned down and kissed her gently. Molly melted into him, similarly shaken by the idea of losing Lestrade. They kissed languorously, reveling in the warmth of being back in one another's arms again. Molly was eventually the one to reluctantly pull back, "Would you like to come inside?"

Greg leaned down and kissed her in response, before following Molly inside, grabbing her hand and holding it, not wanting to miss being connected to her for a single moment. Once the door was firmly shut behind them, Lestrade bent down and swept Molly up into his arms, bridal style. He held her slight body next to his, feeling as though, Atlas-like, he was carrying his whole world. Molly snuggled against him as he walked her to the bedroom, and laid her on the bed. Removing his coat, he followed after her, and leaned overtop her body, kissing her sweetly. She reached up and started to unbutton his shirt. She wanted to feel him closer to her. She slowly slid the shirt off his shoulders, feeling the strong muscles of his arms as she did so. Turnabout being fair play, Greg pulled Molly's shirt off, and swiftly rid her of her bra as well, anxious to get his lips back on hers. Molly smoothed her hands up Greg's back as he kissed her softly. He reached up to cup her petite breasts in his work hardened hands. Molly mewled and arched into his touch lightly. Soft, Molly was always so soft. Greg removed his mouth from Molly's to pepper her face and neck with kisses. Molly giggled at the sensation. This was always Greg's way of saying he loved her, every part of her. Her nose. Kiss. Her eyelids. Kiss. Her chin. Kiss. Her forehead. Kiss. Her ears. Kiss. Her cheeks. Kiss. Every part of her, whether it was her nose, which she loved, or her ears which she hated, Greg loved them all. He moved further down her body. Kissing all the way down her arms, from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers. He let her know he loved them too. He kissed her breasts and her stomach, and her sides and her hips. He gently pulled her skirt and shoes off, and treated her lower half to the same gentle showering of kisses, running from the tips of her toes, up over her knees to her hips again. As Greg continued to kiss her all over, Molly slowly sank in to warm, fluffy state of mind filled to the brim with Lestrade's love for her. Once she was quite sure Greg had kissed every scintilla of her naked body, Lestrade pressed a kiss to her vulva. He started to lick his way inside her causing Molly to moan lowly and thread her fingers through his silver hair. Greg licked her softly, until Molly was close to climax. He was fully intending to continue until her completion, but Molly's voice called him away.

"Together," she said breathlessly, "I-I want it to be together."

Greg pulled back, and got off the bed briefly to remove his trousers. " 'Course, Molly. If that's what you'd like," he said tenderly. Molly nodded. Trousers and pants removed, Greg got back on the bed and covered her body with his own. Molly couldn't help but admire Lestrade's lean frame, lightly toned due to the more than occasional chases that he was constantly trying to avoid. She liked his broad shoulders especially, they always made her feel small and protected when he curled them over her. He often did so instinctively. At a loud bang, or unexpected movement, Molly noticed that his shoulders would automatically curve down towards her protectively. She didn't even think Lestrade even realized he was doing it.

He leaned down to kiss her again, and Molly rose up to meet him. It had torn her apart to break up with him like that. The half hour that she had on her own before John had called had been one of the worst of her life. She just kept seeing his face when she'd said it over and over. She shook her head. John _had _called. And Greg was here now. She pulled back to look at him, stroking a thumb over his cheek. He was here, smiling down at her, his eyes doing that crinkly thing she loved at the corners. He was here, calling her "Molls," and reaching down to line himself up with her entrance. When he pushed inside her slowly, she buried her face in his neck, and let herself be swept by the experience of being with him. His scent. His voice. His body. All over her and inside her, washing her clean of the fear of losing him. The warm weight of him enveloped her, and rocked her gently, until she felt so warm and happy and loved that the memory of her own sadness felt like a distant and implausible dream. She felt arousal start to mix in with the warm, happy feeling, and soon she was calling out Greg's name as he made love to her.

Equally elated to be inside Molly, Lestrade thrust in and out of her slowly, wanting to make this moment last as long as possible. He let one of his hands roam her body, comforted by the tangible feel of her. He could feel little puffs of her breath skitter across the crook of his neck. She was so much more than he could ever deserve; soft, and strong, and kind, and clever, so clever, Molly was the best person he'd ever met. He wanted to stay with her like this always. But as he continued to push and pull himself in and out of her, getting lost in the rhythm of the movement, he felt his pleasure start to irreparably overwhelm him. Luckily Molly was crying out beneath him, and moments later he heard her spill over the edge with a cry of his name. As she came down from her high, murmuring I love you's in his ear, Lestrade let himself be pulled over after her. The pleasure of her warmth surrounding him felt so good he felt as though he might burst at the seams. He sank into her one final time and came with a low moan of, "Molly."

Feeling as though he was floating, he rolled over onto his back, bringing Molly with him. "I love you," he said looking up at her.

"I love you too," Molly said warmly.

Greg leaned up to kiss her. "No, I love-" RING! RING! RING!

Molly and Lestrade both started and looked over at his home phone. "Just let the machine get it. If it's the force then they'll call my mobile." He leaned up to kiss Molly again and managed to drown out the ringing until the phone went silent. There were a blissful five seconds of nothing but kissing Molly, and then…BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Lestrade uttered a curse, and grabbed for his phone. "What?" he said, not even bothering not to sound annoyed.

There were sounds of a scuffle on the other end of the line.

"Anderson, I swear if this is you calling me with some-"

"No, John. Get _off!"_

He knew that voice. "Oh, I am going to bloody kill you," he muttered, just as Sherlock regained control of the phone.

"Lestrade, were you or were you not just having sex with our own Molly Hooper? I've tried to tell John, but he still doesn't believe me."

In the distance, Greg heard John yelling at Sherlock, "It's not that I don't believe you, you twat! I'm _saying-"_

Lestrade didn't want to listen to this right now, not with a warm, sleepy Molly Hooper resting on his chest. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he said firmly.

"Don't hang up, I'll just call back."

Lestrade was trying to formulate the quickest response to get Shelock to leave them alone, but Molly beat him to the punch. The moment she heard Sherlock's name, she grabbed the phone out of Lestrade's hand and started talking in an exquisitely angry tone of voice. "You listen and you listen well, Sherlock Holmes. I am going to hang up this phone in ten seconds, and you are not going to call again. You are not going to show up at our door. You are not going to send someone else. You are not going to contact us in _any way."_

"Molly, really, just-"

"**_Not a single word._** If we hear from you again tonight,_ I_ won't supply you with bodies, and _Greg_ won't supply you with cases for an entire month."

The other end went silent. Sherlock had apparently taken the threat seriously. Molly could practically hear the wheels in his head turning over the phone. Before he could respond, she said, "John, you still there?"

"Yeah," John replied.

"Can you help keep Sherlock from weaseling his way out of this?"

The force of John's glare was almost audible, "Yeah, of course, Molly. The git deserves two months if you ask me."

"John," Sherlock said frustratedly.

"Good. Now, goodnight, Sherlock." Molly said hanging up with a flourish.

Lestrade gazed up at her, enraptured. "I bloody love you," he said leaning up for an impassioned kiss. Seeing Molly stand up to people like that never failed to make him both proud and horny. It was his favorite thing in the world. And it was even better when she was naked.


	21. Clubbing- GabrielReader

**Summary: **When the boys need something translated, they send Gabriel out to fetch you. He certainly does not expect to find you in a club. What ensues is every dirty fantasy you've ever had about grinding on Gabriel in a club, and more.

All the songs are set up as youTube links within the fic.

**Warnings: **dirty dancing in a club, so semi-public sexy stuff, but no full on public sex

You could feel the bass from some new remix of Dark Horse pouring through your body as you rolled your hips to the beat. You'd been out dancing with your friends for about an hour now, and you were just starting to his your sweet spot where between the drinks, and the lights, and all the people, you started to feel one with the music, as though it had taken over and suffused itself throughout every part of your body. You felt someone come up behind you, and assuming it was your friend Jeff, you rolled your hips back against him, immediately settling into a slow, dirty grind. You felt his hands on your hips and pressed your back against his chest. You had_ just_ long enough to start getting an inkling that something was amiss (Jeff had never been this good of a dancer) before Gabriel spoke.

"Y'know when the Hardy boys told me to go fetch our in house Greek translator, I never expected to find you here."

"Gabriel?!" you said, whirling around, astonished. Sure enough, the moment you turned around, you found yourself looking into the grinning face of the angel that had saved you.

He looked you up and down with a low whistle that you would barely hear over the club's pounding music. "Even better from the front," he commented.

You grabbed his chin and made him look you in the eye. He was always doing this, even when you were in a three piece suit. If you didn't rein him in, you didn't want to think how out of hand he could get with you in a club, in just a sequin top and short skirt. "Why are you here, Gabriel?" you said enunciating every word clearly and evenly. He was still smiling.

"Need something translated," he replied dismissively. "But more importantly, _when_ did _you_ go all Nightclub Barbie? And why was I not invited?" he said, looking you up and down again, somehow sounding both admiring and indignant.

You rolled your eyes, for someone that was supposed to be angelic, Gabriel sure was an unrepentant flirt. There was a part of you that wanted to take his joking seriously, because you'd been head over heels for him ever since he'd pulled you out of that fire, but you were worried that the moment you took him up on one of his constant offers, he'd say he'd just been having fun the whole time, and you'd fall flat on your face. That was the thing with Gabriel, you could never tell when he was being serious.

"Tell the boys to send me some pictures and I'll translate it in the morning."

"Sorry, Barbie. This thing's pretty camera shy, gotta take _you _to _it._ Why do you think they sent the guy with wings?"

You sighed, and looked wistfully at your friends who were still dancing. You'd been looking forward to this all week. You were getting your doctorate, and thanks to side projects like the Winchesters, chances to let off steam were few and far between. Gabriel caught the direction of your gaze.

"Go ahead. Keep dancing. I'll take you in an hour or two," he said, his tone kind.

You looked back at him. The Winchesters were usually a drop everything and do it now kind of people. "Are you sure it can wait?"

Gabriel shrugged, "Sure!" He caught sight of your doubtful face. "Don't tell me Dumb and Dumber scared you straight while I was away?" Sam and Dean _had _always been quite urgent when asking for translations. Reading everything he needed to know from the look on your face, he rolled his eyes, "Drama queens. Well, trust me, Y/N it can wait all night if it has to. Now c'mon, they're playing my song." Christina Aguilera's Dirrty had just come on; you looked at him skeptically. "What did you expect, Handel's Messiah?" he said, holding out his hand. "C'mon, dance with me."

You were slightly taken aback. He was serious. This time you could tell. He really did want to dance with you. To _this _song. You stepped tentatively towards him, and he turned you, so that your back was slotted up against his front again. You tried to stop feeling self conscious, and let the music roll over you again, but the fact that you were dirty dancing with an immeasurably old _archangel _that you'd had a crush on for well over a year, kept tripping you up. Feeling the hesitancy in your movements, Gabriel slid his hands down to your hips, and started guiding your movements himself. "Relax," he murmured in your ear. You shivered counterintuitively, feeling a wave of heat wash over you. Maybe you _could _take his flirting seriously. Doing your best not to let your imagination run away with that thought, you just tried to sink into his hands, moving your hips more easily now. Bit by bit, you felt yourself relax, just as Gabriel had instructed. You felt the music start to rise through you again, more potent this time because of who you were dancing with.

Then Gabriel pressed a very light, barely there kiss to your neck, and you finally decided to throw all your reservations out of the window. He wanted to dance? You were going to give him a dance. Whether this led to something more, or whether he backed away with a smile and a wink after all this was through, you were going to enjoy the fuck out of this evening. With the final strains of Dirrty fading into R. Kelly's much slower Ignition remix , you did a full body roll against Gabriel. Pushing your shoulders back against him, you rolled leisurely down his body, making contact against every part of him you could reach. You felt his hands slide up underneath your flimsy sequin top to rest at the bare skin of your waist. You rolled your body again, encouragingly, this time swiveling your ass against his groin. You heard him groan lowly at that. You rolled your body over his in continuous waves now, you could feel him giving as good as he got, rolling his body in synch with yours. "Not your first rodeo, huh Y/N?" you shivered again, feeling the heat take up residence specifically between your thighs this time. God, he wasn't even saying anything dirty, but his voice made you feel _so_ turned on.

"I just love dancing," you replied as placidly as you could, stretching your arms back and over his neck, trying to find a way to touch more of him. You could practically feel the heat of Gabriel's gaze on your chest.

"Thank dad for that," he replied emphatically, plastering himself to your back.

You moved sinuously with Gabriel, feeling so in sync with him by the end of the song, that it was almost as if your two halves had somehow fused together to become one seamless unit. When the DJ switched over to the more upbeat SexyBack, you decided it was time to let lose a little more. Shifting your legs a little further apart, you bent forward and started to shake your ass against Gabriel. You heard a muted curse behind you and then Gabriel was trailing a hand up the back of your top. You could feel the archangel starting to get hard behind you, which only encouraged you to shake your ass faster. Gabriel groaned, and ran his hand tantalizingly over the small of your back, unable to keep himself from picturing you fully bent over and naked. When you whipped yourself back up against him, it was almost a relief. The more impulsive part of him had been yelling for him to zap you to a hotel bedroom so that he could get you naked ASAP, but Gabriel was worried that would be _far _too fast for you. Just because you were dancing with him, didn't mean that you wanted to sleep with him. So he was trying to strike the balance between making advances while not making you feel like you were being pressured in any way.

Once you were upright against him, he immediately spun you around and made another advance. Holding your head in his hands, and pushing his body up against you, he looked into your Y/E/C eyes briefly getting your unspoken permission, before leaning in and kissing you. It was as though you'd touched a live wire. You felt electricity spark through your body in a way that there was no possibility of being natural. You supposed the whole infinite power housed in a tiny vessel thing had to make itself known at some point. Gabriel would later inform you that the electricity you'd felt had in fact been his grace reaching out to you. He normally kept it in check, but kissing you had caused his guard to fall, and so some of it had instinctively reached towards you. You opened your mouth, and felt his tongue press in. You moaned as you continued to writhe to the beat and felt him insert his leg between yours, Taking your moan as a go ahead, Gabriel trailed his hands down your body to your ass. He squeezed it and rocked you against him, letting you practically ride his thigh. You pulled back from him, breathing heavily, and whispered his name, "Gabriel."

"The one and only," he whispered back teasingly, far better at playing though the pain than you were. You completely let yourself go, writhing against him in time with the music, moaning when he swooped down to mouth at your neck. You felt arousal, and desirability, and the insistent thrum of the music permeate your mind and body. You kept rolling your hips against Gabriel, getting lost in his hands on your ass and his mouth on your neck. He nibbled his way up to your ear, finally sounding a little out of breath himself, "What say we blow this popsicle stand, Y/N? I hear there's a private dance party you're invited to that's _way _more fun."

You nodded eagerly. Yeah. You wanted that.

The next thing you knew, you were in the bedroom of a fancy penthouse with Marvin Gaye's, Let's Get It On playing softly in the background. You laughed, put at ease. You may be about to change the nature of your relationship, but Gabriel was still Gabriel though and through. "Too cliché?" he asked lightly.

You nodded, smiling. "It's very _you _though." You glanced behind him and saw that you were both standing in front of a large, white armchair. You took him by the shoulders and slowly pushed him down into it giving him some serious bedroom eyes. You had an idea. "Any chance you can get Amy Amy Amy through these speakers, babe?"

Gabriel smirked and snapped his fingers. Suddenly the sultry, jazz inspired opening strains of your favorite Amy Winehouse song was filling the room. Sweeping your hips from side to side, you let your hands trail over your own body seductively, looking into Gabriel's golden eyes. You saw them darken with lust as he realized what you were doing.

_Attract me till it hurts to concentrate_

You played with the hem of your sequined top, before pulling it slowly over your head.

_Distract me, stops me doin' work I hate_

Still swaying to the beat, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra. You turned around slowly so that all he could see was your back, as you let your bra fall to the ground.

_And just to show him how it feels_

_I walk past his desk in heels_

You sauntered away from him, tantalizingly slowly, running your hands over your body again, and letting him him watch your legs slide against one another as you crossed and uncrossed them in a model's walk. You turned back around, your hands covering your breasts as you walked back to him.

_One leg resting on the chair_

_From the side he pulls my hair_

You put one leg up on the chair next to his, and leaned into it so that he could see up your skirt. He ran one hand up your thigh and wove the other into your hair. He was looking at you with such wild lust that you felt like the most powerful woman on earth, bringing an archangel to heel, just by stripping for him. He pulled you down for a long, deep kiss, and smoothed the hand that was on your thigh, up your body to your breast, pushing one of your hands out of the way. You stayed there making out with him through the chorus, letting him feel you up, feeling yourself get wet in the process. When the verse kicked back on, you made yourself push back. His lips followed you for a brief spell, but when you pulled far enough away, he reluctantly let you go. He settled back in the chair, his legs splayed wide and his tawny hair mussed looking like the very picture of decadence.

_Masculine, you spin a spell_

You rolled your hips, and hooked your thumbs under your waist of your skirt. You slowly pushed it down and let it drop, keeping your eyes on Gabriel's stormy golden ones the whole time. Sometimes you felt as though you could see the strength of his true form trying to force its way through Gabriel's vessel, now was one of those times.

_I think you'd wear me well_

Now in only your pumps and underwear, you turned and shimmied your ass for him, really giving him a show. You heard him curse lowly behind you; you were learning that that was Gabriel's signal that you'd surprised him. Here was another surprise. You slipped your fingers into the sides of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs, bending over as you did so. You heard Gabriel curse loudly, and say your name over the music.

_(Amy, Amy, Amy)_

_Where's my moral parallel?_

Once you were completely naked, you rolled back up and turned to find Gabriel completely naked and stroking himself. Much to your surprise, he didn't make a joke, or even wink. He simply continued to look you up and down with the same intensity he'd had ever since you'd started to strip for him. Unreasonably turned on by the lasciviousness rolling off him in waves, you walked towards him, leaving your heels on and straddled him in the chair. He caught your lips immediately, his hands roaming your body. You moaned and ran your fingers through his hair. He reached down and slipped two fingers between your legs, checking to see that you were ready. By this point you were practically dripping. You reached down to stroke him and Gabriel groaned into your mouth. You lined him up with your core and he quickly removed his fingers. As he gripped your hips, you slid yourself down onto his length. You both simultaneously broke away from one another to cry out. After the initial thrust, Gabriel bent his head down and sucked your right nipple into his mouth, causing you to moan in need and start riding him. You both rolled together, just as you had in the club, one sinuous unit.

Gabriel's hands and mouth never stayed in one place for long, constantly exploring your body. Your mouth, meanwhile, was busy letting out little whimpers as you rode Gabriel mercilessly. But your hands didn't stay still, they moved all over his compact body smoothing, and squeezing, and scratching. As you bounced in his lap, Gabriel started to let out low, chanting, moans of your name in between sucking, and kissing, and biting anything he could get at. You felt the passion building between the two of you, and soon it felt as though the air around you was crackling with your shared desire.

You shifted your knees to get some more leverage and- oh! There was your g-spot. Gabriel felt your whole body freeze and grinned against you. "Find the mystery spot, huh, Y/N?" You simply groaned in response, to inundated with pleasure to notice the first joke Gabriel had made in the last half hour. "There you go," Gabriel said, shifting his hands down to your hips to get you moving again. You rocked against him experimentally, seeing if you could handle the intense pleasure that shot through you every time the length of his cock rubbed along your g-spot. You so rarely found the damn thing, if you had been more cognizant you might have suspected Gabriel of interfering. As it was all you could think about was the shivery flush of heat that rushed through you every time Gabriel's cock thrust inside you. Fueled by your own mounting pleasure, soon you were back to riding Gabriel like a goddamn stallion. You were still letting out these little breathy whimpers as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to climax. Gabriel felt so good, and thick, and hot inside you. You didn't think anything could ever be better than this, but then you felt Gabriel's fingers touch your clit. You let out a high pitched whine and ground your hips down against the sensation, instinctively trying to get more. His finger felt slick, so slick, and so _gooood_ against you. It was the final thing you needed, and with one last thrust, you seated Gabriel fully inside yourself and came with a soft moan of his name.

You heard Gabriel curse beneath you, and use his hands to bounce you on his cock three more times before coming as well. He buried his face in your neck and all but shouted your name. You felt the air crackle and fizz around you, sure that it wasn't your imagination this time. What's more, as Gabriel shuddered against you, you were quite certain that you saw a faint glow emanating from him. Once he went lax, and fell back against the chair, you looked down at him adoringly. Still slightly suffused with the fading golden light that you were quite certain was his grace, he looked truly angelic to you for the first time. Not a warrior. Not a human. Not a trickster. But an angel. So beautiful that you understood the impulse to avert your eyes that you'd always heard about when it came to angels. You trailed your fingers over his face lightly, and he looked up at you, his eyes still glowing gold, even as the luminescence faded from the rest of his body. "Maybe if I'd started with that, you would have believed me about the whole angel thing sooner," he joked.

You smiled affectionately, and leaned down to kiss him. "You think you could have gotten me into bed the first time we met?"

"Obviously," he replied, kissing you lightly. "It was the _keeping_ you in bed that I was worried about."

"Technically you still haven't gotten me into bed, Gabriel. We're in a chair," you teased in between kisses.

"Well then I guess we'll just have to try again."

"I suppose so," you agreed. You kissed him again, already very much looking forward to round two.


	22. Spanking- 9th DoctorRose

**Summary: **When the Doctor tells Rose to stay in the TARDIS, she doesn't. Of course. As always.  
>But this time he's going to get this lesson through her head using more creative means.<p>

The twist? This is all role play, and Rose is actually dying for the Doctor to spank her.

**Warnings: **spanking, and sex, that's really it

"I _told _you not to go swannin' off after those Uxarieans, Rose. I _told_ you to wait here in the TARDIS," the Doctor's ninth incarnation thundered, following Rose into the TARDIS with a slam of the door.

"Look, I'm sorry Doctor, but I was _worried _about you," Rose said turning to face him.

"Worried? Is this how you act when you're worried? You go running off around planets on your own?"

"But Doctor I-"

"Rose, there was a _reason _I asked you to stay in the TARDIS."

"I know, but-"

"No, Rose," the Doctor replied in a tone that brooked no argument. "I told you to stay in the TARDIS, and you didn't listen. And now you have to face the consequences."

Rose rubbed her legs together, very glad that they were role playing and that the Doctor wasn't actually angry with her. There was no way he'd punish her with something she liked if he was really cross with her.

"Lean over the console," the Doctor instructed evenly.

Rose felt a shiver run through her. She loved it when the Doctor spanked her (which was why she'd never get it as a real punishment. She was far more likely to get her orgasm denied if she'd really been bad.) "Yes, Doctor," she said, bending over the console and pushing her bum out. The Doctor came up behind her and pulled her jeans and knickers down over her arse in one swift movement. Feeling the cool air hit her nether regions, Rose arched her back and let out a soft, involuntary moan. The Doctor chuckled and spanked her lightly, "Eager little thing, aren't you?" Rose nodded. The Doctor spanked her lightly again. Rose knew from experience that this was just the warm up and that he wouldn't start making her count aloud until they got to the real spanks. But she started counting in her head all the same. She loved the feel of the Doctor's hand against her backside. She loved the way she could feel the smacks radiate all the way to her core. She always got so wet whenever he spanked her that it never took her long to come afterwards.

The Doctor layered his slaps all over Rose's backside, in an even pattern. Once Rose's bottom was good and warmed up, as evidenced by it's lovely pink hue and the heat it was radiating, the Doctor decided that it was time for her actual spanks. But before he administered them, he allowed himself to get momentarily distracted by Rose's pert bum. He smoothed both hands over the globes of her arse, on hand warm from the spanking, the other one his natural, slightly cooler than human, body temperature. Rose pushed back against his hands, wanting more. It only took on brief smack from the Doctor to get Rose back in position.

The Doctor stepped back, and intoned in his rough northern burr, "Count them," and brought his hand down hard against the swell of Rose's arse.

"O-One," Rose stammered, feeling herself start to get wet already. "How-how many, Doctor?"

"Ten," the Doctor replied smoothly, bringing his hand down again.

"Two," Rose said, resisting the urge to push back against his hand.

"Three," the Doctor smacked her right buttock again, and Rose was aware of the heat building up on her bum. She was going to be able to feel this spanking for a couple days, she could already tell. She liked the spankings that lingered, those were always her favorites, the ones where she'd feel the phantom of the Doctor's hand on her every time she sat for days afterwards.

"Four," Rose squeaked. That had been a hard one. It had landed with a resounding, "Whap!" that echoed off all the hard surfaces of the console room.

"Five, Doctor," Rose tried to keep the whine out of her voice as best she could. This felt good. This felt _really _good.

"You gonna go runnin' off again?" the Doctor asked, giving her a small break and running his hands appreciatively over her reddening arse. This had been a kink the Doctor had been surprised that he had been into. It was a purely human kink, spanking. There were similar correlates in other species, but no one else did it quite like humans did. So when Rose had asked to try it out, he had agreed, but with a caveat. He had warned her that this may very well be a kink he was not into, and he reserved the right to withdraw if that was the case. Rose had agreed easily, but then most things with Rose were easy. Luckily he had wound up quite liking the kink himself. He had yet to puzzle out why. But like many kinks that he and Rose had been exploring as of late, he suspected that his enjoyment was largely tied to hers. He liked seeing Rose happy; he liked seeing Rose come. That was his kink. It was amazing how many other things could fall under the umbrella of that kink when the only requirement for him being interested in something was that Rose liked it.

"I won't go running off again, Doctor. I'll be good, I promise."

" 'Course you will. You're always good, Rose. My good girl." Rose practically glowed under his praise, and the Doctor had to pull himself away from the temptation to keep telling her everything that was wonderful about her, and forget the spanking entirely. They could get into a bit of a feedback loop with praise, the Doctor had found out. His praise, made Rose happy. Rose being happy made him happy. Which meant he wanted to do it more. More praise made Rose happier. Which made him happier. Which made him praise her still more. And so on and so on, until it became a game of diminishing returns and eventually Rose became frustrated. He'd learned better than to go down that path. So instead he bit his lip and administered the next spanking.

"Six," Rose said, happy to have his hands on her again. The Doctor really did have incredible hands.

"Seven," Rose moaned. She was so wet. She wasn't even trying to hold back her moans anymore.

"Eight. Oh!" Her arse felt hot, she felt as though her own wetness must be dripping down her thighs. What she wouldn't give to have the Doctor inside her while he administered her last spanks.

"Nine!" she cried out, as his hand came whistling down against her arse. That one had stung. She swiveled her hips, dying for some friction between her thighs.

"Now, Rose. What are you gonna do next time?"

"Stay in the TARDIS. Stay-in-the-TARDIS! Oh please, Doctor!" she cried out, needing that last spank like she needed her next breath.

The Doctor rubbed his hand tantalizingly over her backside one more time, "Good girl." He drew his hand back and let it come down against her voluptuous arse one more time with a resounding smack.

"Ten. Ten! Oh, Doctor, please!" Her bottom stung, her pussy was wet, she wanted him inside her.

"Please what, Rose?"

"Please, take me. Fuck me hard, please!"

The Doctor grinned and pulled himself out of his black trousers. He loved Rose's dirty mouth, all the creative human swears that would tumble out of her mouth the moment his cock got involved. "Such language," he said pretending to reprimand her.

"Oh, like you give a bleeding damn."

"I do," he said, tracing himself along her folds, using a hand on Rose's back to keep her from taking matters into her own hands and impaling herself on his cock. "I care very much about your manners, Rose."

"You do_ not_, just fuck me," she replied in frustration, trying to move against the Doctor's hand, letting out an exasperated squeal when she found that she couldn't move an inch.

"You'll get more flies with honey, sweetheart." Rose didn't respond. She simply tried harder move against his hand. "Ask nicely, and I'll give you my cock," he said lowly.

Hearing the Doctor say such a dirty word in his rough voice was her undoing. "Doctor, please," she said as contritely as she could.

"There we are," the Doctor replied, finally sliding himself into her. Rose moaned and pushed her hips back towards him. The Doctor took up a swift and steady pace, gripping Rose's hips and groaning her name. Rose could feel the roughness of his trousers against her inflamed arse, making it sting more. She sunk bonelessly against the control panel, giving herself over to the heady feeling of the Doctor fucking her. It wasn't long before she could feel herself approaching orgasm.

"Oh god!" she cried out.

"Not a god, Rose," the Doctor replied cheekily, somehow still in possession of his wits, despite being fairly close to coming himself. Rose felt fantastic around him, slick, and hot; he didn't think he'd hold out when she came.

Rose simply gave out a high pitched moan in response. Breathing raggedly, she kept trying to cant her hips back against him, despite her feet barely touching the ground at this moment. The Doctor gave another hard thrust, and ground himself against her backside on the downstroke. That was it. Rough fabric, combined with being completely filled with the Doctor, pushed Rose over the edge. She came with a cry of "Doctor!", her thighs shaking, her arms stretched out above her, hands clutching at the edge of the panel.

"Fuck," the Doctor growled lowly behind her. Feeling her squeezing around him, the Doctor only lasted two more thrusts, before he spilled inside Rose with a cry of her name. He bent over her, shuddering, still hard inside her, as they both regained their breath. Once he'd softened and slipped out, and their breathing had returned to normal, he stood and grabbed the wet wipes and salve. He cleaned Rose and himself off and applied the salve to her bright red bottom. While he massaged the salve in gently, he asked Rose, "Alright, there?"

Rose nodded.

"Good," he replied. Once the salve was all in, he pulled Rose's jeans and knickers back up. "Now then, how do you feel about actually going to Uxarieas? I promise I won't make you stay in the TARDIS."

"Deal," Rose replied brightly, standing, and turning to face the Doctor, holding out her hand.

He shook it, grinning. "Fantastic."

As he walked around the panel flipping switches, and levers, getting them ready for their trip, Rose walked over to lean against the railing. She could feel the sting of her sensitive bottom rubbing against her knickers with every step. She smiled. She hoped there would be a lot of running on this adventure.


	23. Dirty talk- DeanReader

**Summary: **Dean Winchester has a mouth watering scent, an amazing body, and a thick knot.

And you need all three of that crap.

Just one problem, it's on the other side of a door that you accidentally jammed the wrong key into. With your heat at a fever pitch, Dean talks dirty to you to keep you calm as he picks the lock. And with tensions running this high, some secrets are bound to come out

**Warnings: **orgasm delay/denial, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, heat sex, claiming, sex toys, true mates

You cried out loudly as you came for the fourth time that day, once again intensely glad that Sam and Dean were out on a hunt. This heat was a bitch. Your body usually gave you at least an hour in between knottings, but this morning you'd been lucky if you'd gotten half an hour. It was probably because the whole damn bunker reeked of alpha. You'd heard that smelling, what an omega body regarded as, a potential mate could kick heats into overdrive. Even now, coming down from your high, you were hyperaware of the smell of leather and black currants that signaled Dean, and the smell of old books, and satsumas that signaled Sam. Dean's scent was especially overwhelming to you. More than just leather, and black currants, he smelled like musk, and sex, and though you kept trying to shove the thought to the back of your mind, he also smelled like mate. As the thrumming need in your body eased slightly, you pulled the fake knot out of your body and laid it on the bed beside you. Not getting everything covered in your slick had been a battle you'd stopped fighting long ago. You were going to have to wash all your bed things anyway before Sam and Dean got home, you were sure your whole room stank to high heaven of fertile omega.

You were just about to try and get in a little nap when you heard the distinctive creaking of someone entering the bunker.

Shit.

With no idea who it was, you scrambled off your bed and over to the door. The only thought on your mind was that you had to lock it. There were lots of alphas that had access to the bunker, and only one you actually wanted to sleep with when you weren't in the grips of your heat. But with how needy your body had been today, you weren't entirely sure that you would be able to turn down _any _alpha cock, no matter who it was attached to. In your haste to lock the door, you grabbed the wrong key, but somehow with a strength driven by panic, you managed to shove the very similar, but incorrect key hard enough to lock the door…and break the jammed key off inside the lock. You tried the handle. You couldn't open it. Probably for the best really. You had food, a restroom, and your toy; you could figure out how to open the door up once your heat had passed. After all, there was only one situation where you'd want the door unlocked, and that was if Dean had come home on his own. And Dean was hardly ever without Sam, so what were the chances of that?

"Y/N?" you heard Dean's voice call. Oh fuck, one out of two. You swore to god, if Sam wan't with him, and Dean wanted you, but couldn't get to you because of your impulsive door trick, you were never going to stop kicking yourself. "Y/N, why does it smell like…son of a bitch." He must have gotten close enough to identify your heat scent. He must be close to your room, with the exception of a quick supply run around the bunker, you'd been in here ever since your heat hit. Sure enough, you heard footsteps walking down the hallway to your room. One set of footsteps. You swore to god… "Y/N, why didn't you call me?" Dean sounded gruff and serious.

Your voice came out breathier than you would have liked, "I'm fine, Dean. Bunker's the safest place on the planet."

"Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?" The frustration in Dean's voice at your lack of forward thinking was palpable. "Five alphas have keys to this place, and it smells like a goddamn heat-bomb went off in here." Heat-bombs were a weapon the police used to quell alpha riots, it was the smell of multiple fertile omegas, condensed down so that it was so thick that it practically immobilized any alpha that smelled it.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I wasn't thinking." Why did your voice sound so husky?

"You're damn right you weren't." You could still hear his footsteps getting closer, and now you could smell him. Fresh waves of annoyed alpha, Dean Winchester washed over you and caused a new gush of slick to run down your thighs. You leaned your back against the door, and slid down it, clenching your fists to your side in an effort not to touch yourself while Dean was talking to you. You let out a pained whine at the overwhelming arousal that threatened to suck you under again. Hearing your whine, you heard Dean's footsteps speed up, "Hey, hey, hey, talk to me Y/N. How's your heat going?"

"How do you think, Dean?" you replied acidly. "The whole bunker smells like you and Sam, I'm dying."

"That bad, huh?" Dean said. You could hear his voice clearly now, he must be right outside the door.

"It's fine, Dean. You can take Sam and go. I know this must be painful for you." If you smelled as strong as he said, Dean had to be _very _uncomfortable right now.

"Sam's at Ally's. And-"

"Wait, why's Sam at Ally's without you?" you interrupted, worried.

"We need some info, and well, let's just say she's not so eager to see me again."

"You slept with her didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Little bit."

You rolled your eyes. Somehow Dean still being Dean was kind of comforting given your current situation. Maybe- since he _was _alone and all- maybe you didn't have to go through this heat alone.

"Dean," you moaned.

"Hey, I'm right here. What do you need?"

"You." There it was. Out in the open, no going back now.

"Y/N," Dean growled, you could practically hear his jaw clenching. "That's the heat talking," he forced the words out like it was the last thing on earth he wanted to say.

"No, Dean, really. Want you. Not just the heat. Always." God his smell. You wanted your toy again. You needed something inside you.

"You think I don't know horny omegas lie like rugs, babe?" Dean said almost managing to sound amused, even though you knew that reverting to his light tone must be costing him dearly. "C'mon, you got water in there?"

"Dean, believe me, pleeeaaase. Want you to fuck me. Want your knot." You writhed against the door. He was so close. You wanted him so bad.

"Fuck," you heard Dean mutter darkly on the other side of the door. "Son of a bitch. Y/N, I can't stay if you're going to be like this. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'll call, Garth, he's a beta."

"No! Wait, Dean!" you called frantically. You couldn't let him leave you like this. Not over a misunderstanding. Proof, you needed proof. Your journal! "Dean, I have proof."

"Y/N how are you gonna-" Dean sounded at the end of his tether, your heatscent must really be getting to him.

"Journal. I keep a journal."

"What are you thirteen?" Dean somehow managed to joke.

"Shut up," you said forcing yourself to your feet. You walked over to your chest of drawers and pulled out the simple college ruled spiral that you'd been recording your daily activities in for the past year. You'd never intended Dean to see this, but you could handle the embarrassment if it got him in the room with you. You riffled through it and found a page where you'd talked about Dean. It had been a simple salt and burn. You'd wound up running into an alpha at a bar that wasn't great at taking your polite rebuffs at face value. Dean had wound up going all territorial alpha on the guy, which you'd found to be both sweet and hot as fuck all. There, that should do. You walked, trembling like a newborn foal back to the door and pushed your journal under the door. "Here," you said. "Start reading the January 9th entry."

You heard a sigh and a flutter of paper as Dean picked up your spiral on the other side of the door and then…nothing. Dean was absolutely silent on the other side of the door.

"Dean?" you called through the door, "Dean, have you read it?"

"Yeah, Y/N, I read it," Dean said quietly.

"Do you believe me now?"

Dean paused. "Yes," he admitted.

You waited. Why wasn't he following up? Why wasn't he opening the door? You were an omega in heat goddamnit, you had to smell fantastic. Self doubt spiked through you, maybe you'd read him wrong, maybe he didn't want you. Hesitantly, you spoke, not sure if you really wanted to hear the answer, "Do you- Dean, do you want to?"

After what felt like an eternity of quietude, Dean finally spoke, in an almost ashamed whisper. "I don't know if I can do it without mating you." Whoa. That was big. That implied that Dean had some serious feelings for you. While alphas, like omegas, almost always felt the drive to mate when they were knotting with one another, alphas could control the urge most of the time. There were two exceptions. One was when the alpha was so emotionally attached to the omega, that their primal self practically considered the omega to already be their mate. This was most often the case with alphas and omegas who had been going out for a long time. Exception number two was in the case of True Mates. True Mates allegedly used to be one soul in heaven, before being rent in two on their way to earth. This exception sometimes snuck up on people. Because while in some cases, alpha's and omega's reported recognizing their True Mate immediately (often by scent alone), many others said that they hadn't known until they were already knotting and mating them. There was a whole spectrum in between those two extremes, and psychologists currently theorized that while all True Mates recognized one another instantly, many subsumed the desire and denied it for any multitude of human reasons, until the overwhelming event of knotting shoved the realization to the fore.

You had to admit. Dean did smell _really _good to you. You had thought so ever since the first time you'd met him, but you kept shoving the possibility of him being your True Mate deep down inside. This life was so messy, so terrifying, the last thing Dean needed was another person in his life for the baddies to take as a hostage, you'd rationalized. You'd almost never even dared to write the idea down in your journal. Almost. "Turn to March 22nd," you said softly.

You heard the rustling of pages on the other side of the door that signaled to you that Dean was searching for the date. When he stopped, you tried to resist the urge to hold your breath as he read. You were really putting your heart on the line here. But then it was only fair, Dean had done the same. Admitting that he didn't think he could resist mating you had been a _huge _risk. "Are you sure?" you finally heard on the other side of the door. Dean sounded so unbelievably hopeful.

"Yes," you said. The journal entry you'd pointed him to had contained only one sentence. "Dean Winchester is my True Mate." You had had to write it down. Just once. Just to get it out of your head. Seeing it in black and white had been so powerful that you'd shoved the idea back down inside yourself, not thinking of it again for months. Not until today. "You?" you asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

"How long have you known?"

"Since we met," he replied. You sat in stunned silence. He had known this whole time?

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew."

You both sat there in silence for a moment. Letting the gravity of what you were about to do wash over you. Dean was the first to speak. "Can I come in?" At his words, the arousal which had died down during your conversation with him about the journal flared back to life with a vengeance. Dean's scent wrecked its way through you, leaving you lightheaded and needy. You whimpered, and reached up for the doorknob, forgetting what you'd done. You couldn't turn the knob. Frustratedly, you tried again. And then it came back to you.

"Shit," you cursed, trying to twist the knob as hard as you could, to no avail.

"What? What is it?" Dean said, sounding concerned.

"I can't open the door," you whined

"What do you mean you can't open the door?" Dean asked, trying the knob on his side.

"I locked it with the wrong key, and it broke off in the lock."

"Son of a bitch, Y/N," you heard Dean's clothes rustle as he presumably reached into the inner pocked of his jacket to pull out his lock picking kit. "Why the hell would you do a thing like that?" Dean said crouching down.

"I thought it might be Sam coming home, not you."

Dean growled at the idea of his brother finding you like this instead of himself. He didn't even realized he'd said "Mine," aloud until he heard you moan "Yours," on the other side of the door. Trying to keep his hands steady with your scent rolling over him in waves was immensely difficult. It became even more so, when you made a request of him.

"Dean," begged in a high pitched mewl, "Talk to me." You were so horny. You had no idea how long it was going to take him to get through the door. You _needed _to hear his voice.

Dean was in no position to deny you when you sounded like that. "Don't you worry, babe, gonna have this lock picked before you know it. Gonna fuck you real soon, I promise. Just hold tight. Oh, fuck," he groaned resisting the urge to rest his head on the door as another wave your scent rolled over him. "Smell so good. Wanted to knot you, for so long. God. First time- I uh- first time we met, and you were in that hot little skirt…you smelled,just, awesome. Pie, you smell like pie and home, baby; I just wanna lick you. Wanna get my tongue right up in between your legs and lick." You moaned at the thought.

"Dean, need-" you sobbed, you wanted him in here with you.

"I'm workin' on it sweetheart, I'm workin' on it," Dean answered, sliding the second pick into the lock. "I'll be in there any minute now. Gonna eat you out so good. I've eaten girls out for hours. Hours, Y/N. But you? You're gonna taste so sweet, baby you're gonna have to pry me away. Gonna make your pussy my home." You rubbed your legs together, dying for some friction. "You got a toy in there, darlin'."

You nodded before you realized that Dean couldn't see you. "Y-yes," you said, your voice sounded thick, even to your own ears.

"You been playin' with yourself all day, pretty little omega?"

You nodded again.

Dean didn't need an answer though. "How many times have you come today, Y/N?"

"Four. Dean, please," you knew that begging wouldn't get him in here any faster, but you couldn't help it.

"Was it enough?"

"No. Need more."

"You need a knot, Y/N. A real one, not some fake ass plastic junk. You need _my _knot, filling you and stretching you, pumping you full of my pups." This resulted in your loudest groan yet, why was that hot? "Yeah, you like that idea, sweetheart?"

"Yes. Want your knot. Want it _please_."

You heard a muttered curse on the other side of the door that you were guessing had to do with the lock. "The hell did you do to this thing, Y/N? Fuckin' key's more jammed than New York City traffic. Sorry," he said apologizing for his frustrated outburst. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Y/N, it's gonna be a bit. Go grab that fake ass knot of yours, I'm gonna get you through this," he said, still fiddling with the lock.

"What about you?" He must be just as agonizingly turned on as you were.

"Don't worry about me, just go grab your toy." Obediently you crawled to the bed and pulled your inflatable dildo off the bedspread, where you'd left it. Wanting to be as close to Dean as possible, you crawled back, and leaned up against the door again, splaying your legs wide. "Fuck, Y/N. You smell _amazing._" You writhed at Dean's words. He smelled spectacular too. You could smell the wild tones of his rut seeping in to his typical scent. The poor boy must be _so _hard right now. You heard him stop breathing for a moment to steady himself, before he started talking again. "Okay, alright. Now, Y/N. Put the toy down, I want you to warm yourself up first."

"Don't need warming up. So wet,_ neeeeed _a knot."

"Motherfucker," Dean said to himself, but otherwise he didn't acknowledge your protest. "Run your hands all over your body. Everywhere except that pretty omega pussy of yours."

You obeyed, running your hands over yourself, avoiding the place you wanted to touch most. "Dean," you pleaded, "Tell me, tell me how you would touch me."

Dean's voice got somehow lower, as he intoned exactly what he would do to you if he were on the other side of that door. "You wanna know what I would do? Well after I'd knotted and mated you until you were so fucked out you couldn't see straight, I'd start taking you apart, slowly. I'd run my hands up your thighs, you've got such gorgeous thighs, Y/N. Fuck, I'd palm your tits in my hand; I'd press my rough hands into your soft skin. I trace light circles over your stomach while I sucked on your nipples until you were calling my name."

"Deeeaan," you cried out, touching yourself in time with his story.

"Yeah, yeah, baby. Just like that. I'm not even touching you and I can smell that slick just pouring out of you. Okay, now, reach down, and push just one finger into that sweet pussy of yours."

"Dean," you complained, doing as he said nonetheless. You felt so empty with just one finger inside yourself, somehow you felt even emptier than when you had _nothing_ inside you.

"In and out, Y/N. Just pump it in and out."

"Dean, please." You heard the faint clicking of him still working on the lock. He was just on the other side of the door, but he felt so far away.

"You want more?"

"Yes, yes, please let me have the toy."

"Greedy," Dean commented, "I'll be generous. Three fingers." You whined, and did as you were told. You still felt empty; you needed a knot. Dean rapped on the door in reprimand, "Hey, don't be ungrateful in there, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," you meant your response to sound sarcastic, but missed it by a mile, landing more in the territory of seductive.

"Fuck, Y/N," you heard a thunk and you were pretty sure that was Dean's head against the door.

"Dean, please, help," you entreated, spurring him on. You heard Dean suck in a deep breath as he got back to work on the lock and started talking again.

"Okay, Y/N. Fuck yourself with those three fingers, just like I would."

"Yours are bigger," you said petulantly.

"Yeah, they are," he agreed. "I'd fuck you open on my fingers. Bet your slick would be running down my wrist, wouldn't it? I can smell how wet you are. I'd lean down and lick my way up my wrist, cleaning every drop of you off of myself until I reached you. Then I'd lick you clean. Long licks, one right after the other. Over and over and over, until you're begging to come. Bet you taste so good, don't cha." You groaned on the other side of the door. Your fingers just weren't enough. "Bet you're just dying to get my tongue in you."

"Yes, Dean. Want it. Want it please."

"Bet you don't want it as bad as my knot." You moaned loud at just the _thought _of him knotting you. You needed it like water and air and light, and you couldn't fathom how you'd gone this long without it. "Pick up the toy, Y/N," Dean directed in a guttural tone. You eagerly pulled your fingers out of yourself and reached for the dildo with the inflatable knot beside you. "Whatcha working with in there?"

"It's-uh- it's a plastic dildo. It's got a knot on the end that I can push a button and inflate."

"How big is it?" Oh god, Dean. Was he seriously having a pissing contest with your dildo?

"Uh- seven, seven and a half inches?" you guesstimated.

Dean's smirk was practically audible, "I'm bigger." You rolled your eyes, alphas. Even so, the idea of Dean being even larger than your toy was appealing. "Alright, let's get that sub par piece of plastic in you." Dean said, bolstered momentarily by his own pride. "Slide it inside yourself, slowly," he instructed. You did so and sighed Dean's name, finally feeling some hint of satisfaction for the first time in the past half hour. You heard Dean swallow audibly, no doubt picturing what you were doing to yourself. "That's it, good girl. All the way in." You pushed the toy deeper inside yourself. The initial satisfaction faded, and you felt sheer frustration engulf you again. You wriggled your hips, trying to get some kind of stimulation. "Now fuck yourself," Dean ordered, his voice gravel-rough and low. You did as he bid, and fucked yourself with the toy. You pumped it in and out of yourself. You'd been taking care of yourself with this toy all morning, so you expected to feel the familiar swellings of your orgasm soon, but all you kept getting was more frustration. The more you tried to make yourself come with the toy, the worse it got. Until your hips were hitching in the air, you were letting out pitiful whimpers constantly, and you'd stopped producing slick.

Dean could hear from the tone of your sounds that all was not going well in there. He stopped in the middle of a dirty spiel that you hadn't even been aware he'd been giving, and shouted through the door, alpha concern radiating in every syllable, "Y/N? Y/N what's going on in there?"

"Alpha," you pleaded, calling him by his title for the first time, overwhelmed by helplessness and confusion. You needed Dean to fix it. "Alpha, it's not working."

"Motherfucker," you heard Dean say.

"Alpha, help me, please."

You weren't even bonded yet, but you could feel the distress that was pouring off of Dean in torrents. Clearly _he _understood what was happening. "Y/N go into the bathroom. Do not come out until I say so."

"Why?" you asked, dropping the toy immediately and getting to your feet.

"You're drying up. It's because I'm here. Your body isn't tricked by the fake knot anymore, and it's pissed." Oh. You'd heard about drying up. It was in the news sometimes; usually because some omega, like you, hadn't understood what was happening and had wound up seriously hurting themselves. You were lucky Dean had stayed; the omegas from the news usually got set off by a neighbor or a roommate that they hadn't even realized was close enough to trigger them. If Dean had left you could have wound up still being triggered by his brief presence, and dried up with no one around to let you know what was going on. No wonder Dean sounded so worried. "Tell me when you're in the bathroom," he said sternly. You walked slowly to the bathroom, heavily affected by your heat, but you eventually made it.

"I'm there, Dean. Dean, what are you going to do?"

"I'm shooting this son-of-a-bitch lock to kingdom come," Dean replied. "Close the door, Y/N, and don't come out, understand?" You answered in the affirmative and closed the door behind yourself. You could understand why Dean hadn't wanted to use this option until it was a last resort. Firing bullets into the room that held your omega had to be heart stoppingly terrifying, no matter how good of a shot you were.

You heard two gunshots crack through the air, and then Dean shouted the all clear. You made your way back into the room, as you heard Dean ramming his foot against the door. He probably wouldn't have had to use his gun at all were the bunker locks not so sturdy. You got yourself to the bed, and were just about to give in to every instinct and present, no matter how much you wanted to see Dean's face right now, when Dean finally burst through the door with a resounding crack.

"Alpha," you breathed out instinctively, seeing Dean's face. Concern was etched into the lines of his face, and he was across the room with you in his arms before you knew it.

He curled his large body over you protectively, kissing the top of your head, and murmuring comfortingly to you, "Shh, shh, I got you. It's all alright, now. I got you. I got you."

The alpha in him was hell bent on soothing what his nose was telling him was a distressed omega, while the omega in you just wanted his fucking clothes off. You started shoving impatiently at his jacket, and it took Dean a confused moment to realize what you were trying to do, but once he did, he was completely on board. He pulled his jacket off for you, and then leaned down taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. You moaned. Finally. This was it. This was what your body had been craving. You reached up and started trying to undo the buttons of Dean's shirt, but he knocked your hands out of the way and just ripped the damn thing off, buttons flying everywhere. He kissed you more deeply still, his tongue pushing into the hot cavern of your mouth, while he fumbled with his pants. Moments later, with pants, underwear, shoes, and socks, all shucked, leaving him as naked as you, Dean pressed you down into the bed.

Need. Need. Need. Was thrumming through both of you. There was time for slow and sweet, exploring each others' bodies sex later, now was for mating. Dean manhandled you into position, on your knees, head down, ass up. You arched your back, and stretched your neck to the side, presenting for him. Dean let out a bone deep groan that you swore was the hottest thing you'd ever heard. With a real alpha touching you, your body started producing slick again. You heard Dean sniff the air behind you, and let out another groan as he lined himself up. Knowing that you were wet, and well prepared, he wasted no time in diving into you with one deep thrust. You moaned wildly. Yes! Full, right, _alpha-alpha-alpha! _This was what it was supposed to feel like. Your alpha fucked you forcefully, taking no prisoners, and grinding you down into the bed. The power behind Dean's thrusts was so strong that you needed his hands on your hips to help keep you upright.

"Say it," Dean demanded.

You knew what he meant. He wanted his title. "Alpha!" you cried out. "Alpha, harder!" Dean obliged, fucking into you roughly, grunting and growling. Dean was practically animalistic in his claiming. All that power that he kept so routinely leashed around his loved ones, unfurled around you, swallowing you up and fucking you raw. Dean's hips slapped against your backside, making a satisfying smacking sound, over and over and over. You knew you weren't going to last long, and judging by the way you could feel Dean's knot beginning to swell inside you, Dean wouldn't be to far behind. Letting go of your hips, Dean planted his hands on either side of your head, and plastered himself to your back. You could feel his hot breath on the side of your neck, right over where he was about to put his claiming bite, and that was the final straw. With a loud cry of "Alpha," you came all over Dean's cock. You shuddered and moaned as your orgasm ripped through your body ferociously after being denied for so long. Soon after Dean gave your body what it had been craving since you'd woken up that morning, a real knot. He pushed it inside you with a smoky rumble of "Mine," that was orgasm worthy in its own right. With Dean's knot inside you, while you were still working through your own orgasm, you felt Dean's mouth open against your neck. "Alpha," you managed to whisper, as Dean's sharp canines pierced through the skin of your neck, earning himself the title of _your _Alpha. Like all omega's before you, you felt a blinding orgasm roar through you at your alpha's claiming bite. You were inundated with Dean's feelings, his arousal swirling with your own. You felt the bond snap in place, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. You went from out of control coming, to completely exhausted in the blink of an eye. You sank into the bed, limp and loose limbed in the aftermath of your twin orgasms.

Dean reluctantly let your neck go, but followed you down to the mattress, licking at your new claiming bite, soothingly. He kept murmuring "Omega," and "Mine," and "Y/N,"in between licks. You hazily replied with "Alpha," and "Yours," and "Dean." You both stayed like that mind numbingly awash with hormones, until Dean's knot finally deflated. Once it did, Dean rolled you onto your side, and slid over so that he was lying down on his side facing you. You looked at Dean's face, soaking up his pleased expression. You reached up and cupped his face in your hand, rubbing a thumb along his cheekbone. "Mate," you murmured tenderly. The love in Dean's eyes was almost too dazzling to look at. He leaned over to kiss you, agreeing, "Mate," against your lips. You kissed one another languorously, both sleepy from the intensity of the claiming process. While you wanted to keep kissing Dean all night, you were also more tired than you'd ever been before in your life. Reluctantly you pulled back, and snuggled yourself against Dean, tucking your head under his chin. "I love you, Dean," you said softly. And for the first time since he was very young, Dean said it back.


	24. Rimming- Jack Harkness Dean Winchester

**Summary: **It took Dean Winchester thirty six years to come out of the closet, and he's finding it rather a different experience than he'd expected. Blow jobs are harder than they look; his "gaydar" is way shittier than he thought; and anal sex is actually kind of intimidating. Not that he's not enjoying the experience overall. He just needs a little time to adjust.

It's in the middle of finding his footing, during his first experience at a gay bar, that he meets Captain Jack Harkness. Although, not quite ready to play hide the sausage, Dean is perfectly amenable to Jack introducing him to the new and glorious world of rimming.

(Lots of flirting, and background, and fluff, and smut. As much plot with your porn as a one shot can reasonably have.

**Warnings: **rimming, anal play, Dean is new to being out and still adjusting, also some very slight references to homophobia

Dean Winchester was thirty six years, five months, two weeks, seventeen hours, and eleven minutes old when he _finally _accepted that he was attracted to men. Thirty six full years of "No homo," until he was finally able to wash out the ingrained repression his father had taught him enough to say, "Okay a little homo." It had been boiling under the surface since he was young, and there was no major event that pushed him over the edge. Simply, on a day just like any other, there was one little thing that tipped the scales. It didn't matter what it was, it could have been anything. A word. A person. A thought. An action. This final straw was no more important than the thousands of others that had come before it, other than that it happened to be the one that broke the camel's back. The one that made Dean Winchester take the label of bisexual, and firmly affix it to his chest. Dean had thought that would be the hardest part. He thought that addressing his sexuality was a one time thing. He thought that it wouldn't be that different.

He was wrong on all three accounts.

While all of his experiences telling the people in his life wound up being positive, until he had to do it, it hadn't occurred to Dean that he would have to come out more than once. Coming out to Sam had been awkward but relatively easy. Charlie had been a little more exuberant than he would have liked. Jody had gone full on mother mode and made very certain that he knew he was accepted. He still hadn't told Cas yet, and he wasn't sure why.

Furthermore, after thirty six years of being with only women, Dean found the transition to sleeping with men harder than he'd expected. Dean had never really had trouble talking people into sleeping with him, so if men were an easier sell, he didn't really notice. What he _did _notice was how hard it was to find those fuckers! How the hell did you know if someone was gay? Dean had thought he'd known, but now that he was trying to employ it, he was rapidly finding out that his "gaydar" was far worse than he'd thought. And the risk/reward was pretty damn high, only Dean's quick reaction time had saved him from a broken nose a couple times. Luckily he'd at least partially fixed the availability/gaydar issue by discovering Grindr, which in Dean's opinion was the best proof he'd yet to find of a benevolent god. Once he finally gotten some partners though, Dean was finding that he needed more time than expected to adjust to the actual sex with men. He'd thought that since he'd gotten such a slow start on this whole bisexuality thing that once he finally got going, he'd be Usain Bolt-ing his way through every new sex act he could find. That had not been the case at all. Every time he brought a man home it _was _exciting. Intensely exciting. He'd loved everything he'd tried so far, and the newness of it all was a potent turn on. Stuff that he'd thought about for years, (while simultaneously trying _not _to think about them) he was finally making an actuality. The first time a guy had blown him he'd come in under a minute. Under a minute! But he simply couldn't help it. Dean had always been a visual guy, and he'd just looked down, and it was this big burly bear of a dude, sucking his dick, and he'd straight up lost it. There was no time to think of Bobby in a sparkly g-string, no time to clench his jaw and will it away; he had looked down _once _and then he was coming. Luckily the guy had been super nice about it, and actually said it was flattering. Nonetheless, Dean had insisted on sticking around to blow the guy twice to make up for it.

That was another thing: blow jobs. Dean had thought, "How hard could it be?" He knew how dicks worked, since he had one of his own, and gauging a lover's body language was going to be the same no matter what gender they were; this was gonna be a piece of cake. Wrong. Wrong again. The mechanics of it all were what had tripped him up. His jaw ached, he kept gagging, and he had yet to find a predictive factor for crotch smelliness. (Seriously, were some guys allergic to soap?) I mean sure, it was Dean, so he was adjusting to all that with a grace not afforded to most people. But still. He hadn't expected to have to adjust at all. Don't get him wrong though, he enjoyed it. While it wasn't entirely what he'd expected, he still liked giving blow jobs _a lot. _ He liked making guys come. He like being on his knees in front of them. He loved having something to suck on. He liked the way they looked down at him. Girls were 50/50 but guys always watched. Little exhibitionist that he was, Dean _liked_ that.

He liked a lot about men. He liked the hard muscles that matched his own. He liked that some of them were bigger than him. He didn't have to worry so much about hurting them. He liked the sounds that they made (sometimes just heavy breathing, sometimes full on groaning). He liked that it was easier to find someone who would take over. He liked that their kisses felt different than women's (lips not as pillowy, and more likely to use a little teeth.) He liked that there was so much variety, just as much as with girls. It felt like the whole world had opened up to him.

So overall while he was having a great time, and bringing home guys back to motels so frequently that Sam had scammed an extra credit card _solely _for Dean to rent rooms with, Dean was still easing his way into that world when he met Captain Jack Harkness.

He and Sam were headed to a big city for their first time in years. The monsters usually avoided places with dense populations, harder to get away with stuff when there were simply so many eyes around. But the fact that it was in a big city was the least weird thing about this case. To start with, the thing that had caught Sam and Dean's attention was that people were exploding. Flat out exploding in front of tons of witnesses. Weirder still, all the victims shared two seemingly unrelated characteristics, they were all morbidly obese, and were all in high positions of power. Weirdest of all, all the witnesses had the same single strange remark about every event, right before the vics exploded, they had been _farting_. Copiously.

"So, what kind of monster you think we're looking at, Sammy?" Dean asked, turning down the music after three hours on the road, curious if Sam had found anything helpful on his tablet.

Sam sighed, "I don't know, Dean. Nothing eats its victims by exploding them. Why the hell would it? So, I started wondering if the vics were actually the monster, but that's been a dead end too. I mean it's not a shifter, they don't shed their skin like that."

"Well, yeah and all the witnesses said there was nothing but kibbles and bits left behind. Even if this _was_ some kind of freaky skin exploding shifter-"

"They'd be left standing in the middle of the room after the explosion, right. So it's not that. Leviathan are out because-"

"No black goo. So what then? Maybe-uh some other weird hybrid Eve made? She was AWOL for a while, she could've made some stuff we never found. Hey, maybe a Jefferson Starship had a bouncing bundle of evil bumping uglies with another ugly."

"These things don't exactly seem discreet, Dean. I doubt they could have been around that long without us noticing."

"So we're going in blind then."

"Yeah, looks like."

"Great, full on Daredevil, my favorite thing," Dean said bitterly. "You know there's a reason his movie sucked so much."

"Whatever, dude. I'll start looking through the news, maybe I can find some more information."

"Yeah, go on Foggy, see what you can find me." Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't respond, so Dean turned the music back up.

Four hours later they were in Chicago, and checked in to their motel. It was well past eleven, so they couldn't go interview anyone. And, given what they currently knew, Sam had done as much research as he possibly could on the way up.

With nothing to do, Sam decided to go to be early. "Hey, I'm gonna hit the hay. Eight tomorrow sound good to you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," Dean said, sounding distracted. He clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. "Hey, so I'm gonna go out for a bit. Just, you know, check out the city."

"You're going to a gay bar, aren't you."

Dean grinned and winked on his way out the door, "Don't wait up."

Sam's eye roll was practically audible, as Dean closed the door behind himself. He continued grinning all the way to the car. He was excited; he hadn't ever been to a gay bar. The towns he and Sam rolled through were rarely big enough to have anything other than hole in the wall bars that were 90% bikers and girls with lower back tattoos, and while Dean loved both of those groups of people, there was only one of them that he could hit on safely. If it wasn't for Grindr, Dean didn't know how he would have found anyone. So the moment that he'd heard they were doing a hunt in a big city, he'd looked up what his options were for a gay bar in Chicago. The first place that had popped up was Roscoe's on the northside of town. Google said it was definitely a gay bar, and Dean didn't know enough to get any more nuanced than that. (Were there different types of gay bars?) So, he figured he'd just start at this one, and if it didn't work out, he could ask one of the bartenders for a recommendation. It was only when he was halfway to the bar that it occurred to Dean that maybe he should have changed. But he dismissed that thought immediately, the guys he'd hooked up with had worn everything under the sun, and if for some reason this bar was different, then he didn't belong there anyway.

Just fifteen minutes later, he was parking the Impala in a ridiculously expensive garage just up the street from he bar. (Twelve dollars?! For a few lousy hours?) As he walked though the bitter cold of northern Chicago at night, he started to get butterflies in his stomach. Really, what was up with him? A couple store fronts down he saw a neon sign with the bar's name backed by a giant rainbow flag. Welp, guess he'd found it. He walked in, glad of the warmth inside, and was surprised to see a fairly typical bar. There were a fair few people inside, but not so many that Dean wasn't able to squeeze his way through and grab a seat at the bar. He ordered himself a beer and took the time to look around. At first blush the bar looked like any one of the more upscale places he'd visited in towns across the country over his many years on the road. It had a great deal of wood (no pun intended), some booths along the edges, and a bar. It also had a stage where much to Dean's disappointment, a DJ was setting up (Dean hated loud techno music like he hated little else). But when his eyes found the dance floor, and he started to think about bumping and grinding with some of the cuter guys in here, he started to think that maybe he could stomach some shitty music for just one night. As he started to look closer, Dean started to see touches here and there that were not typical of the bars he'd been in previously. The guy in the leopard print button up was one. So was the one with the hideous orange suit. The fact that the DJ was a drag queen was also a new experience for Dean. There were a few rainbow decorations hung up around the bar, but nothing as big as the flag outside. Other than that though, the clientele, and the ambiance was just like any other bar. Aside from the guys making out that is. There were guys making out, girls too, like it was nothing. _That _was definitely new for Dean. New and liberating. He could make out with the guy next to him if he wanted to, and no one would blink an eye. _That _was a cool feeling. He could just turn to his right and kiss the guy who…the guy who was introducing himself.

"Captain Jack Harkness. And-whoa!"

Dean started, and almost fell off his stool, as turned to look fully at the handsome stranger sitting next to him.

Jack grabbed his elbow to steady him, "Falling for me already, huh?" Dean steadied himself on the stool and blinked up at the stranger, trying to think of something to say. He was coming up blank, like he always did when he got hit on by guys. After all these years, it was somehow still a surprise to him. Luckily the man smiled at him, and took over, introducing himself again, "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

"Dean Winchester," Dean said dazedly. This guy was really good looking. Like, movie star good looking. He had a brilliant, wide smile, with dimples to boot; clear blue eyes; a jaw that could cut granite; a dimpled chin, and a large, broad physique to match Dean's own.

"Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester," Jack said looking at him as though he was the only one in the room. But somehow it wasn't an intimidating gaze, there was absolutely nothing predatory about it, it was so easygoing and friendly, that Dean was pretty sure this guy shot rainbows out his ass. "Hey, sorry to startle you, but it looked like those pretty green eyes were gonna fall right out of your head. Can't have that. I thought you might like a friendly face to show you around."

Luckily Dean's mouth was starting to function again; _un_luckily, his brain was still several steps back. "Captain?" he said looking at Jack incredulously. Who the hell introduced themselves with their rank in a bar?

"Jack Harkness," he supplied. "Most people just call me Jack, but if you wanna go with Captain, well it won't be the kinkiest thing anyone's called me."

Dean continued to stare at Jack. Was this guy insane? Or was this just what everyone was like at gay bars? Dean had no idea. He felt like he should be walking away, I mean this guy was brazen_._ More brazen than _him_, Dean Winchester. But somehow, despite being so forward, Jack's flirtation radiated good naturedness. Dean felt like he could easily leave if he wanted. So he didn't.

"Say something, Dean. I'm getting worried I've lost you," Jack prompted him, still smiling that impossibly bright smile.

"Uh-yeah," Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, you-you could show me around. It-uh," he smiled half heartedly, "Never been to one of these before."

"Never would have guessed," Jack joked. "Well, as I'm sure you've gathered it's not so different from any other bar at this time." This time? That was weird phrasing. "Except for that guy in the leopard print button up made out of silk, that is."

"You noticed him too!"

"Course." Jack said, leaning back to grab his drink and take a sip. "Had an ex-boyfriend who used to dress like that, fantastic mouth though, used to be a sword swallower at a carnival. Ended up joining a nudist colony with him for a bit, can't dress badly if you're not wearing anything."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Dean shrugged his mouth, "Not a bad solution." He grabbed his drink off the bar and took a sip, trying not to get intimidated by the sword swallowing ex-boyfriend. "So, Jack-"

"Aw," Jack interrupted, disappointed, "I thought we were going with Captain?"

Dean blushed. "Gotta buy me dinner first for that, buddy."

Jack grinned and looked down at his watch, "Well, it _is_ a little late, but I know a place."

"For what?" Dean asked, confused.

"Dinner," Jack said as though it was obvious. "Are you hungry, Dean?" Dean nodded on instinct. He never turned down food. Jack stood up and motioned for him to follow. Hating waste, Dean chugged the rest of his beer and stood to follow Jack. Jack raised an eyebrow, "Now there's the kind of enthusiasm I like to see."

Dean smiled sheepishly, and shoved his shoulder, "Shut up, dude. Take me to eat, I'm starving."

"So bossy," Jack said, finally starting to move through the crowd, which had gotten considerably larger in the short time since Dean had arrived. Although not technically necessary, as Dean knew where the exit was, Jack reached back to grab Dean's hand, so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd. Dean liked the feel of Jack's large hand in his own. Now that they were both standing, Dean could see that Jack was just about as tall as him, which was quite frankly pretty rare and a huge turn on. Bit by bit, he and Jack made their way through the crowd, until they were finally standing in the cool air outside the bar. "It's just up the street, I just need to make a stop for something before we go," Jack said casually.

"Oh, yeah? What's-" Dean was cut off by the very effective silencing mechanism that was Jack Harkness's lips. Surprised for what felt like the fiftieth time that night, Dean was learning to run with it. He kissed Jack back, reaching up for the lapels of his overcoat. His lips were warm, and full. He opened his mouth, and pressed his tongue into Jack's mouth. Jack immediately pressed back, and Dean sunk under the sensation of _hothothot._ He could feel Jack's warm hands against the side of his face, a sweet contrast to the kiss that was rapidly turning aggressive (mostly due to Dean). Dean could feel himself getting turned on at an insanely fast pace, this guy knew what he was doing. He was about to say "fuck dinner," and press his body up against Jack's, when Jack finally pulled away.

"Okay, let's go." Dean looked up at him dazedly, and would still have said "fuck dinner," had it not been for his stomach, which chose that moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl. Jack grinned, and patted his stomach, addressing it directly, "Sorry to keep you waiting, buddy, we'll get you filled up soon." Still in a bit of a daze, Dean followed when Jack started walking. "Like I said, the restaurant's just a couple blocks up the street," he mentioned pointing up ahead.

"Wait, what about your stop?"

"You were my stop. Live as long as I have and you learn not to wait to kiss the cute boy. Never know what could happen," Jack said casually, reaching down and taking Dean's hand in his own.

"Dude, you're like thirty," Dean said skipping over the fact that Jack had called him cute, like some kind of puppy.

"I'm an old soul," Jack replied winking at him. "So I'm guessing you're not from the area, huh?" he continued, changing the subject.

Dean shook his head. "No, not really."

"Then where are you from, Dean Winchester?"

"A little bit of everywhere I guess. I spend a lot of time traveling for my job," Dean replied evasively.

"Get out of town, me too!"

"Really? What do you do?"

"I'm an investigator," Jack said, not elaborating. "And you?"

"Pest control," Dean answered automatically, hoping that he didn't run into Jack on the hunt.

Jack looked at him curiously, "Pest control workers travel?"

No one had ever questioned Dean about this lie before. "Well, um, I'm more of a rep for the pest control company."

"Hmm," Jack said neutrally. "Here," he said pointing to a door to Dean's left. Dean turned and saw a brilliant yellow and red sign proclaiming the name, "Margie's Candies." He looked in the windows to see an old style diner, that looked as though it was getting ready to close for the night.

"I think they're trying to close, Jack."

Jack nodded. "They close in ten minutes. It's fine, I know the owners." He opened the door, and ushered Dean inside.

Sure enough, the moment they were through the door, an elderly woman behind the counter shouted, "Jack!" and started running towards them as fast as her seventy year old legs would carry her. She was pretty spry for an old broad and reached them in no time. She threw her arms around Jack, and pulled back to pinch his cheeks saying, "Now let me have a look at you. Goodness! Haven't aged a day." She turned to look at Dean. "Oh, and you brought a man with you! Well this one's much more dashing than the last one you brought with you."

"Margie," Jack said bashfully, like Margie was pulling out naked baby photos of him. "Stop."

"He bring all the boys here, Margie?" Dean asked.

"Just the cute ones," Jack interjected.

"Bullshit," Dean said automatically, before pressing his lips together, he'd forgotten about Margie.

Margie pointed at Dean, "And bright too. You should keep this one."

"I'll try, Margie. I'll try."

Margie smiled, "Make yourself at home. Are you hungry, dear? I can fry you something up."

"Thank you, Margie. I'll have whatever, Dean's having. You know I like everything you make."

"Dean?" Margie said turning questioningly towards him.

"Uh-any chance you got some burgers back there?"

"Only the best in the state," Margie replied brightly.

Jack could practically Dean glow with happiness at her statement. "I'll have one of those then. Thanks, Margie." Margie nodded, and bustled off to the kitchen, while he and Jack grabbed a booth.

"So how many guys _have_ you taken here?" Dean asked, trying not to sound jealous.

"Does it matter if I let you know you're the cutest one?"

"Yes."

"Eight, then."

"Eight?"

"Yeah, eight. That gonna be a problem?"

Dean shook his head. It shouldn't be. This was a one night stand, and lord knew he slept around like crazy too. It didn't matter. "So how do you know Margie?"

"Helped her out with a problem she was having a while back. Nice lady."

"Really?" Dean said suspiciously. "Cause I thought it might have something to do with your dad." Dean said pointing to a small picture of Jack and a much younger Margie, several booths away on a huge wall of pictures. Shit. Jack had forgotten about that picture. No one had never noticed it before. "Guy's the spitting image of you. So what, is Margie secretly your mom or something?"

Jack let out a little laugh, "You know, no one's noticed that picture before."

Dean shrugged, "Yeah, well, gotta have a good eye when you do what I do."

Jack paused, "When you're an exterminator?"

Dean blinked. Fuck. "Yeah, uh- termites in the walls, leave all sorts of small signs. Gotta, gotta be on the look out." He nodded, hoping that had sounded convincing. Judging by the look on Jack's face, it had not.

Jack regarded him for a minute, and Dean didn't say anything. God, why did he have to be so shitty at lying in his day to day life? He practically lied for a living, goddammit. Suddenly, Jack seemed to make a decision, he leaned across the table towards Dean. "Look Dean, I'm starting to get the feeling that _neither _of us is who we say we are. Now we can either have a long, pointless talk about that, or decide to drop it. I suggest we drop it."

That sounded good to Dean. He was curious why Jack was bothered by a picture of his dad on the wall. He was curious why he and his dad looked _exactly _the same. He was curious about a lot of the little strange things Jack had said throughout the night. But he was _far _more curious what Jack's plush lips would feel like around his cock. So he nodded, "Dropping it sounds good to me, man."

"Good," Jack said definitively. "So tell me about yourself, Dean Winchester," Jack said, leaning back as Margie arrived with their food. Dean took his first bite of the burger, and between the taste in his mouth, and the handsome man across from him, he was in heaven.

Dean and Jack spent the rest of their middle of the night meal, talking casually about this and that, straying away from topics that would require either of them to lie. As the evening went on, their banter got more and more sexual, and it seemed as though Dean had finally found his match for innuendo filled responses. When it was time to leave, Jack had asked, "Your place, or mine?" and Dean had responded, his. He didn't want to leave baby parked in a garage all night. Besides, while he trusted Jack more than he had any previous one night stands, he still wanted to hook up in the neutral ground of freshly rented hotel room. So they walked back to his car.

Upon reaching the Impala, Jack endeared himself to Dean further by saying, "Now _that_ is a beautiful car. What is that, a '67 Impala?" Dean had looked at him, surprised. Jack had not struck Dean as a car guy. Jack shrugged. "I dated an engineer for GM once. Brilliant guy, bit of a covers hog. Fearless though, which had it's benefits," his voice turned reflective, "Idiot died flying his own plane through a storm no one said he could make it though." Jack smiled ruefully, "Guess they were right."

"Sorry to hear that," Dean said.

"Ah, it's fine, best to go out with a bang, hey?" Jack replied, collecting himself.

"Yeah," Dean replied soberly, "Ed Cole, guy who designed this car actually. Hero of mine. You know he died the same way?"

"Really?" Jack said, trying to keep his face neutral.

"Yeah, guy flew his twin engine Beagle right through a freak storm everyone said he couldn't go through. You know what he said?"

Jack shook his head, not trusting himself to speak; Ed had been a good man.

"Said if he could get a whole country's worth of cars off leaded gasoline, then he could damn well fly through a little rain," Dean smiled, he always had a soft spot in his heart for the reckless ones.

"Yeah, sounds like something my ex would have said," Jack replied, sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala.

Nothing more was said on the way to Dean's motel. He had already checked out an extra room before he left. So all they had to do was walk up to the second floor and slide in his key card. Once inside, Jack shrugged off his coat and threw it over a chair. Dean did the same, he had only a moment to regard Jack's attractive build, before Jack had Dean's face in his hands and was kissing him for all he was worth. Dean moaned into Jack's mouth, feeling the familiar butterflies start to flutter in the pit of his stomach. Jack kissed him deeply, licking into Dean's mouth, as Dean took this opportunity to grab his ass. Firm and full, Dean was disappointed that he hadn't been able to check it out all night, as Jack's stupid sexy coat had been blocking his line of sight. Jack groaned into the kiss and pressed his body into Dean's. At the roughly the same height, Dean could feel all of their parts align. He could feel the plane of Jack's strong chest against his own. He could feel his slightly pudgy stomach against Jack's leaner abs. He could feel his rock hard arousal against Jack's thickening cock. Paired part for part all the way down their bodies, it didn't take long before the desire to feel the other one naked started to overtake both of them. Dean started first, reluctantly letting go of Jack's ass, to start undoing the buttons of his shirt. Once he reached the bottom, he yanked it out of his pants, and forced Jack to remove his hands from his face so that he could get it off. The moment Jack was free of his shirt, he shoved Dean's unbuttoned overshirt off his shoulders, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. After they were both shirtless, Jack wrapped an arm around Dean's lower back and pressed them together. Dean arched into Jack, reveling in all the skin on skin contact. He kissed Jack harder, as if trying to meld their bodies together through sheer force of will.

Jack started to walk Dean towards the bed, and once Dean felt his knees hit the back of the bed, he sat down heavily. Looking up at Jack, Dean saw him start to kneel. Dean immediately put his hand against Jack's stomach to stop him, and shook his head. He was level with Jack's belly button, and all he could think about presently was getting his mouth on Jack's cock. "Can I- could I," his voice was rough, he was having trouble thinking straight. "Fuck, I wanna suck you off."

Jack looked down at him lustfully. You haven't lived until you've seen Dean Winchester looking up at you through full lashes, asking to suck you off. "Knock yourself out, big boy."

Dean licked his lips and looked back down to the waist of Jack's pants. He could see Jack's hard dick pushing against the fabric. It looked _big._ Dean tried not to gulp, and undid the button of Jack's pants, and slowly pulled down the zipper. Starting to get enough of his head back to at least remember what he himself liked, he looked up at Jack as he started to slowly pull down his pants. He continued to look into Jack's blazing blue eyes, as he leaned in to mouth at Jack's erection through his briefs. Jack groaned Dean's name and pushed into the sensation, threading his hands through Dean's hair. Dean smiled and placed a long, wet lick to Jack's cotton covered shaft. Yeah. He could do this. He started watching Jack for signs of what he liked, but as far as Dean could tell, Jack liked everything. Thus far he wasn't showing a preference for hard or soft, teasing or to the point, teeth or tongue, like any of the other guys Dean had been with previously. Deciding that maybe some more direct stimulation would provide some stronger reactions, Dean slowly pulled Jack's briefs down. (If he was honest with himself, he also did it because he really, really wanted to have Jack in his mouth.)

He traced his hands up Jack's thighs, and started playing with his balls while he placed teasing kisses all over his hips. Unlike previous partners, Jack neither groaned in frustration, nor moaned in titillation. He simply continued to let out the occasional, low, fuck hot utterances of Dean's name. Annoyed that he was having trouble reading the guy, Dean decided to at least please himself for the time being, and sucked Jack's tip right into his mouth. He closed his eyes, happier than a pig in muck, and sighed. Above him Jack let out the loudest, "Dean!" yet. Dean easily could have assumed that it was because sucking him was the most sense intense thing he'd done yet, but he didn't. Something clicked for Dean, and he suddenly understood what Jack liked. Jack was like himself; what got Jack off the was seeing his partner aroused. Well that was an easy desire to fulfill. He sucked Jack down further, and let himself get lost in everything he liked about giving blow jobs. He looked up at Jack frequently. He didn't try to deep throat Jack. He let his tongue roll all over Jack's cock, loving the heartfelt moan Jack let out every time he found a sensitive spot. And because making Jack moan was what turned Dean on, he'd let out a moan of his own. And because making Dean moan was what turned Jack on, Jack would moan a second time. And because making Jack moan…

And so on, and so on, and so on. The feedback loop of being so aroused by one another's satisfaction caused Jack and Dean's mutual pleasure to ratchet upwards at an exponential pace. It wasn't long before Dean was sucking down Jack, using every trick in the book, and having the time of his life, while Jack groaned Dean's name nonstop above him. Dean was getting so turned on by just blowing the guy that his own cock was starting to feel painfully neglected in his jeans. But honestly, Dean thought, anyone who didn't get at least a little hot under the collar blowing this guy must be made of stone. Sucking Jack off was turning out to be Dean's favorite experience with giving head, by a mile. He liked Jack's body, his strong thighs, smooth skin, and body hair that had been meticulously groomed to a surprising degree. He smelled manly, and musky without being overwhelming. His cock was thick, and smooth, and filled Dean's mouth up nicely. He liked the way Jack stood still, and let Dean work on him at his own pace. He liked the way that Jack said his name, the way he tugged on his hair lightly. Finally, and most of all, he loved the way Jack looked down at him, his blue eyes electric with lust.

Dean could feel his lips stretching around Jack's cock, and even he had to admit that he likely looked very hot right now. Had Jack been less distracted by the sight, he would have said something to that very effect. Dean Winchester was practically glowing with the joy of giving someone else pleasure. His cock sucking lips were doing just that at the moment, and Jack couldn't help reaching down and running his thumb along the seam between Dean's lips and his cock. Dean gave a whole body shudder, and flashed his brilliant green eyes up at Jack. Jack groaned out a hushed, "Dean Winchester, you are going to be the death of me," He laughed a little and groaned, "And that is a bigger compliment than you realize."

Dean winked wickedly, and sucked Jack harder than he'd been sucked since that Rexophore named Esther a year and a half back. Jack choked, and was finally unable to keep his hips from pushing just a fraction deeper into Dean's mouth. Dean let go of his balls and shaft, and reached up to grab Jack's ass encouragingly. Dean looked up at him trustingly, and Jack got the message. Making very sure not to go too deep, he started to fuck Dean Winchester's mouth. He watched his shaft push in and out of Dean's wet mouth, and let himself fall into the particular brand of hedonism he always associated with good sex. Dean started moaning wantonly around Jack's shaft, squeezing his hands around Jack's ass. It was clear to Jack that Dean was quite green when it came to sex with men, but damned if he didn't have the most potential he'd ever seen in someone this new. If Jack had to make a shot in the dark, he'd guess that Dean had yet to have anal sex with a man, either as a top or a bottom. When he did though, that boy was gonna be beautiful. Jack was sad that he didn't have enough time to stick around with Dean and be the one to make it happen, but he supposed that even if _he _could, Dean's lifestyle probably wouldn't allow it either. Then again, you never knew with this kind of stuff. Maybe they'd cross paths again in a couple years, stranger things had happened.

Either way, if all Jack ever got to experience was Dean's mouth, that was more than enough for him. He felt himself nearing orgasm, and looked down at Dean again, trying to burn the sight of Dean sucking him, into his memory for good. Dean didn't seem to be able to stop himself from wriggling, and Jack was so excited to get him on his back, and satisfied. He pushed himself in and out of the wet sucking heat of Dean's mouth, so fucking turned on that Dean was putting this level of trust in him. Keeping his thrusts shallow he started to move in and out of Dean's mouth more quickly. Dean started tonguing the head of his cock, and moaning around him as he sensed Jack getting close. That was it, Jack wasn't going to last much longer. "In or out," he asked urgently. Dean answered by pulling off of Jack with a pop, and bringing a hand around to jack him off. Dean was pretty shitty at swallowing, and besides, he knew from experience that people tended to like his face covered in come. He jerked Jack off quickly, twisting his hand on every up stroke. Jack was moaning and huffing above him, and Dean knew it wasn't going to be long before he blew. He closed his eyes, and tilted his head up, and sure enough, moments later he heard Jack shout his name, and felt warm come spurt onto his face. Once he was sure that none of it was anywhere near his eyes, he opened them up and looked up at Jack. He was breathing heavy and looking down at Dean with awe. "Holy shit," he murmured. Dean grinned. Yeah. With a face like his, facials were always a crowd pleaser. It almost made up for being called pretty boy all the damn time outside the bedroom.

Jack knelt down, never taking his eyes off Dean's face. Once they were eye level, Jack's eyes flicked down to Dean's lips, and he leaned in to kiss him passionately. Whoa. That was new. He could feel Jack's come getting all over this own face, but clearly this guy was the definition of not squeamish. That was- that was actually kind of hot. Dean was kind of disappointed he wasn't further along in his journey of fucking men. He got the distinct impression that this guy was down with just about everything. Dean hadn't done this with any of his one night stands yet, but maybe he could get this guy's number. Maybe they could meet up again a little further down the road, when Dean was ready to do more. Speaking of which, he could feel Jack starting to press him back into the bed. Now was definitely the time to make sure that Jack knew that he wasn't interested in fucking tonight. Usually he would have told him earlier, but he kept getting distracted.

Dean tore his mouth away from Jack's just as his back hit the bed. "Hey-uh," he licked his lips. Jack's face looked surprisingly hot with his own come smeared on it. "I-um. Just so you know, I'm not really interested in hitting a home run tonight."

Much to Dean's relief, Jack responded, "I figured," without reproach and started to kiss his way down Dean's body. "Believe me, Dean, I'm perfectly happy just to get your cock in my mouth." Dean couldn't help the involuntary moan that erupted from his chest at Jack's blunt dirty talk. Jack's mouth was now level with the waist of his pants, and he was kissing and sucking along the sensitive skin there as he started to undo Dean's fly. "Although I _was_ wondering if there was one more thing you might be interested in." Dean's ears perked up, given Jack's tone of voice, he figured he was going to like what Jack was about to suggest. "Dean, have you ever heard of rimming?" Dean groaned involuntarily, again. He _had _heard of it. And he'd heard it felt spectacular. He just hadn't found a guy he was interested in doing it with yet. But Jack, with his easy openness and his lack of squeamishness about getting his own come on his face, made Dean feel like he was the perfect candidate to explore this new sex act with. Dean nodded, in case his groan hadn't been clear enough. "Has anyone ever rimmed you, Dean?" Dean shook his head. He couldn't seem to get any words out. Red hot anticipation was taking up all of the room normally reserved for air in his chest. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes!" bust out of Dean. "Yeah, yeah, I want-"

Jack placed a hand on his stomach soothingly. "Shhh, shhh, breathe there, big boy." Dean nodded, and did his best to suck in deep, even breaths. Jack was smiling up at him as he started to tug off his boxers and pants. "Now this is new, if you don't like it, you just let me know, okay?"

Dean nodded, "Okay."

"Okay," Jack responded, and then Dean's pants were all the way off, and Jack was swallowing him down and he couldn't think. What the hell was Jack doing with his tongue? How was he doing that? Could he teach Dean? Fuck. Dean had to steel himself. Couldn't look down. Wanted to look down. He really wanted Jack to rim him, he couldn't loose it before then. Jack noticed that Dean was practically vibrating off the bed and patently not looking at him. Poor boy really was new to this. Taking pity, he suppressed his own moan, and pulled off of Dean with a pop. He hooked each of Dean's legs over his shoulders and started kissing his way down to Dean's perineum. Dean moaned and arched his hips at the feeling of having his legs spread over Jack's shoulders, even this was a new sensation. Slowly Jack took the backs of Dean's knees in his hands and started pushing them higher and higher as he kissed lower and lower. Once Dean's knees were almost level with his chest, and spread wider than Dean had ever had them, Jack looked up at him. "Hold these," he said. It took Dean's arousal swamped brain a moment to realize exactly what Jack wanted him to hold. Once he understood, he grabbed the backs of his own knees and held them wide so that Jack would have his own hands free. Jack patted Dean on the thigh and muttered, "Good, now keep them there." Dean tried not to examine the way that Jack's little praise combined with an order, somehow made his cock even harder. One revelation a year was plenty, thank you very much.

Jack took a minute to marvel at Dean. There was no two ways about it, Dean was an unparalleled example of human beauty. An unparalleled example that he wanted to see come. Dean was shaking lightly all over, legs in the air, ass completely exposed to him. Jack was trying really hard not to moan at the sight, knowing what that would do to Dean. Returning his attention to Dean's winking hole, Jack set to work. He kissed his way down the back of Dean's right thigh, giving him time to get ready, letting the tension build. By the time he finally placed a light kiss over Dean's hole, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. Now came the fun part. Jack started to place tiny little licks to the sensitive skin around Dean's hole, letting him get used to the sensation. Dean wriggled his hips a little in a way that suggested that he wasn't finding the act immediately pleasurable. That was normal. Most people took a little bit of time to get over their body's knee-jerk reaction of "wrong!" the moment you tried to treat a exit like an entrance. He'd give Dean a little longer to adjust, and if he still seemed uncomfortable, Jack would go back to sucking him off. Jack set up a mental countdown in his head, and continued to explore the skin around Dean's asshole. When Jack started to press long, flat licks to Dean's hole, right around the thirty second mark, Dean's whole body stiffened up in a way that told Jack that it had finally hit him. Bingo. Dean let out an earth shattering moan, and pushed himself instinctively back onto Jack's tongue. Holy fuck, that was hot. Jack pressed another long lick to Dean's hole, and Dean let out the same caterwauling moan. Jesus, Dean, break the sound barrier why don't you? So turned on by Dean's yells that even Jack was having trouble keeping his composure, he started to lick Dean a little more haphazardly. Before long he was letting himself get led by instinct, just absolutely going to town on Dean's ass. He nipped, and licked, and sucked, and kissed, absolutely driven to distraction by Dean's loud moaning.

Dean meanwhile was practically blacking out from how good this felt. It had just felt a little weird at first, but when it hit him, it hit him like a sledgehammer. He was only vaguely aware of how loud he was being, because 99% percent of his attention was focused on how good Jack's tongue felt. He couldn't help himself, he had to look down; he had to see this. He looked down and miracle of miracles, he didn't come. Why he didn't was a fuckin' mystery to him, because he already felt like he had more pleasure flowing through his veins than he'd ever felt in his life, and the sight of Jack completely naked, kneeling before him, eating Dean's ass like it was a five star buffet was hands down the hottest thing he'd ever seen. "Jack," he groaned. Jack's eyes flicked up towards his, and briefly removing his mouth from Dean's ass, the bastard corrected him, "Dean, we agreed, it's Captain." Dean's whole body lit up like a circuit board remembering the dinner for Captain agreement, and he obediently moaned, "Captain." Jack grinned, nodded once, and then he took his tongue and pressed it _inside _Dean. Dean wailed and fell back on the bed, barely cognizant enough to wonder why he wasn't coming. This felt good. This felt _so _good. He was a fucking idiot for spending thirty six years of his life _not _doing this. He started to cry out a mix of "Jack!" and "Captain!" as Jack continued to thrust his tongue into Dean, burning him up from the inside out. Clearly understanding what Dean needed better than Dean did himself, Jack reached up and started to pump Dean's cock in his hand. He only got in two strokes before Dean came all over his own stomach, bellowing Jack's name.

Jack pulled away from Dean and got up on the bed next to him, stroking Dean's hair as he came back down. Dean was flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and breathing like he'd just run a marathon. His eyes were glassy and far away, and Jack could see little aftershocks of Dean's orgasm still running through him (that was how you knew it was a good one). Slowly he saw Dean's eyes clear and turn to him. "Good?" Jack asked, smiling softly.

"Understatement of the year," Dean huffed, trying to take in slow, deliberate breaths. "Fuck, I've been wasting my life," Dean groaned.

Jack laughed, and nodded. "You're not the first one to have that realization. Just be glad you had yours at thirty six, not sixty six."

Dean shuddered at the thought, "Yeah. Whew, your tongue, man. You should need a license to carry that thing."

"Well, you're one to talk, thought you were going to suck my brains out through my dick for a minute there," Jack said, remembering Dean's mouth.

"Nah, I'm not that good with guys yet. If you were a girl, maybe. But guys?" Dean shook his head dismissively.

"Swing both ways, huh?" Jack said, ignoring the rest of Dean's comment, sensing that tackling Dean's self esteem in a single night would be a losing cause. Whether he believed it or not, Dean gave damn good head.

"Yeah," Dean said, clearly not sure if he was being judged.

"Same here," Jack said simply.

"Really?" Dean asked. "Hey-uh, any tips for finding guys outside of gay bars?"

Jack shrugged, "I just flirt with everyone I like. They'll let you know pretty soon if they're coming your way or not."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, but see, in my experience, some of 'em let you know pretty forcefully."

"Yeah, well that's when you learn how to duck," Jack said smiling down at him, still playing with his hair.

Dean nodded, looked like he was going to be sticking to Grindr and gay bars after all. Oh well, if it kept turning out like this, then that was just fine by him.


	25. Correcting technique- DeanReader

**A/N:** This is from a kink challenge I'm doing on my tumblr. I'm taking pairing requests for the kinks, just have a look at the master-list (link in the sidebar) and see what's unclaimed.

**Summary:** After being accepted to Augustana college in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, you wind up living with your uncle, Bobby Singer. While a generally a good guy, Bobby's got one serious flaw, that keeps getting in your way. He's overprotective when it comes to you and men. One time you brought a guy home, and Bobby was honest to god polishing a shot gun on the front porch. This combined with the fact that college guys are kind of shitty when it comes to sex, means that when you finally meet Dean Winchester, you are one sexually frustrated mess.

Of course, Bobby is not at all amenable to the idea of you and Dean sleeping together. Not one bit.

So it's up to you to either tempt Dean to disobey Bobby, or to convince Bobby to change the rules. And neither of those options is exactly a piece of cake. But it has to be done. Because you're dying for someone who's up for more than some missionary wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, and the more you learn about Dean, the more you think that he's exactly what you're looking for.

**Warnings: **young reader (19), and Dean is about 10 years older

When you first met Dean Winchester, you were just one dick away from being a virgin. More simply put, you had only slept with one boy, your boyfriend Ian. Well, _ex-_boyfriend Ian, it hadn't worked out between the two of you. You had fallen in love with a university far from home, Augustana, all the way in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Ian had been willing to move there with you, but when you realized that the thought of him coming along made you feel trapped and annoyed, not loved and excited, you realized that it was time to let go. Ian was a sweet guy, he really was, but you just weren't right for one another. So midway through your senior year of high school, before Ian had time to finalize his plans, you broke up with him. It had been tough but you'd made it through.

So that was how you arrived at your uncle Bobby's, single and ready to mingle. Bobby had shut that down very quickly. You couldn't bring anyone back to the house, because he'd scare the crap out of them with his overprotective bit. You'd come home with a boy one time to find him polishing the barrel of a shotgun on the front porch. An honest to god shotgun! By the time you realized that going back to the guy's dorm room would be a better idea, things had gotten considerably harder. You had gotten a reputation as the girl with the uncle who might literally kill a dude, and that was a _damn _hard first impression to get past. You managed it a couple times, and saw some guys for a couple weeks. But none of them ever wound up being a good match.

This was in part because, just about every guy you'd hooked up with had been shit in bed. There was Cody, who had only been interested in getting his dick in your mouth, and had done the annoyingly unsublte back of the neck push in an attempt to get you there. There had been Adrian, who, despite being at least interested in getting you off, had patently _not _been open to direction. Direction that he 100% needed. You'd wound up faking coming and not spending the night. Then there was Carlos, who had told you outright that he thought going down on a girl was gross…right after he'd asked for a blow job.

You were halfway through nineteen, and sexually frustrated as hell when Dean finally came into your life. The moment he was through the door, you swore you heard angel choirs singing. The guy was _fine._ Bobby had told you that a pair of guys that were practically like sons to him would be coming to stay for an indeterminate amount of time, but he had neglected to mention that they were both young _and _incredibly hot. (I mean, okay, they looked to be about ten years older than you, but _still.) _You definitely regretted still being in your pajamas when they walked through the door. You stood up to greet them, as Bobby was in the library. "Sam and Dean, right?" you said holding out your hand. You definitely saw the hot one's eyes track your body up and down. Maybe the pajamas weren't so bad after all, you _did _think you looked pretty cute. You had on a pair of black Soffe shorts, an oversized grey Led Zepplin t-shirt, and a pair of thick, comfy, grey thigh high socks. He took your proffered hand and shook it, "I'm Dean, and who are you again?" Yeah, this guy was definitely interested.

"My niece," you heard Bobby's voice sound from behind you. Oh shit, here comes the shotgun. "And she's nineteen, Dean. So I suggest you stop thinkin' what you're thinkin' and drop the girl's hand."

Dean obediently dropped your hand, "Can't a guy just say, hello, Bobby?"

"With you it's never _just hello_," Bobby said sounding unimpressed. "Now this girl's mother entrusted me with her safety. I'm not looking to get my balls handed to me, so I'm gonna need you to keep it in your pants for five seconds, think you can do that, Dean?"

You didn't like how when Bobby got overprotective like this he talked like you weren't even in the room. "Uncle Bobby, for the last time, my mom's not gonna kick your ass just cause I slept with a guy. Hate to break it to you, but that ship's already sailed."

"It's my job to-"

You interrupted him, which earned you a set of strange looks from the boys. "Bobby, _really._ I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm _fine._" You wished that you could say that you honestly thought this was going to do any good, but you'd had this talk with Bobby a million times, and it had yet to make a lick of difference. Sure enough, though not speaking, Bobby was looking at you with stubborn resolution written all over his face. This talk was going to be no more effective than any of the others. There was a slightly awkward silence that the taller one, Sam rushed to fill.

"I'm Sam," he said offering his hand.

You took it. "I'm Y/N," you replied.

"Y/N, what a pretty name," Dean seemed to say reflexively.

"Dean!" Bobby barked. See? No different.

Dean looked startled and held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! Sorry, force of habit," he glanced over at you and winked. He really didn't seem to be able to help himself. This guy must be a shameless player. Good. That was exactly what you needed. You smiled up at him coyly, and winked back. Dean's responding grin was dazzling. Thank god Dean wasn't backing down.

Bobby grumbled, and changed the subject to the boys and what they had been doing. A couple minutes in, Bobby noticed what you were wearing and ordered you to go put on some real clothes. You'd protested, wanting to hear more about the Winchesters, but Bobby had insisted. As you walked out of the kitchen, you could feel Dean's eyes on you, and just as you turned the corner you heard the distinctive _whap!_ of Bobby hitting him upside the head.

Once upstairs, you resisted the urge to dress in one of your most provocative outfits, just to spite Bobby. Bobby was just trying to help, you told yourself. And he'd been very good to you while you were here. Over the past year and a half you'd become quite fond of the old grump. You wanted to make him happy. So, as much as you could, you tried to do as Bobby said. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of the closet. Just because you still fully intended to sleep with Dean, that didn't mean that you had to rub it in Bobby's face.

You threw your hair into a quick ponytail and ambled back downstairs. You found Bobby and the Winchesters sitting around the kitchen table, and offered to whip up some breakfast. Ever since you'd started living with Bobby, you'd been cooking for him. You figured it was the least you could do as a thank you to Bobby for letting you live there. Everyone agreed politely, and you started up some eggs and bacon. As you got everything together, you noticed that Dean was very deliberately not looking at you. Maybe Bobby had managed to scare him straight after all. No worries, you could fix that.

Once everyone had breakfast, the boys went to get settled in their rooms. The four of you then spent the rest of the day researching some weapon called the Colt, sprawled out in varying positions all over the library. Whenever you got the chance to twist yourself into an appealing position in front of Dean, you did. You bent over for books, wiggling your ass slightly, whenever Bobby and Sam weren't looking. You reached up for books on the top shelf, standing on your tip toes and stretching your body out, letting your shirt ride up just enough so that Dean could see the small of your back. You brushed against him whenever possible, handing him a book, walking past him, reaching over him for a stack of papers. When lunch came, and you were lucky enough to have Dean to yourself for a full ten minutes while Bobby and Sam finished up translating a paper, you ate in the most pornographic way you could manage. You moaned around your club sandwich, like it was giving you a damned orgasm, and when a drop of mayonnaise fell onto your thumb, you made full eye contact with Dean while you popped your thumb into your mouth and sucked. Dean reacted to all of these advances the same way. Whenever he noticed what you were doing, be couldn't seem to help staring at you. His mouth would fall open, and his eyes would go glazed. And in the case of the mayonnaise incident, he made a choked off groan at the back of his throat. Then you would always see the point when his brain flipped back on, and whatever Bobby had threatened him with echoed through his head. At that point he would snap his mouth shut, do this sexy flexing thing with his jaw, and pointedly look away. The mayonnaise incident was the only time he actually acknowledged what you were doing directly. "Stop it," he growled at you lowly, while your thumb was still in your mouth. Oh yeah, like _that _tone of voice was going to encourage you to stop. "Stop it, Y/N, or Bobby's gonna kill me."

You fluttered you eyelashes, and pulled your thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Does that mean you want me?" you replied teasingly.

Dean closed his eyes in frustration, you saw his jaw tic again. "Y/N, I am trying to be respectful in Bobby's house," he said, not looking at you.

"Bobby doesn't own me," you said, sliding your hand across the table to run a finger lightly over his hand. Dean still had his eyes closed. "You could," you whispered huskily. Dean's eyes snapped open, and he grabbed the back of your neck pulling you to himself. His kiss was passionate and demanding, and over far to soon. He shoved you back in your chair just moments before Sam and Bobby walked into the kitchen.

Dean finished his food quickly, but stayed in the kitchen until Bobby and Sam were done too. When you all returned to the library, your lips were still tingling.

The next day went much the same, with you pushing Dean's buttons every chance you got. He looked as though he was about to implode, and his reactions were getting more and more unpredictable. Sometimes he reacted with nervousness, like he wasn't sure of his own self control, other times he reacted with frustration, even going so far as to corner you on the way to the bathroom, and order you in a deadly low voice to stop teasing him, and one time he reacted by giving in. When you'd responded to his low growls with purrs of your own, he'd pushed you up against the wall and poured all of his pent up sexual tension into a make out session that couldn't have lasted more than a minute. Your needy whimper had broken through Dean's impulsivity, and fearful of being discovered, he had stormed off in high dudgeon, knowing that all he'd done was encourage you.

After dinner that evening, Bobby made you stay behind, and sat you down at the kitchen table. He tried once again to convince you not to go after Dean, making you wonder if he'd seen more of your teasing than you'd assumed. But everything he framed as a negative, was actually a positive to you. Dean was the love 'em and leave 'em type? Good. You weren't looking for anything serious. He slept with anything that moved? Great. A guy with experience was exactly what you needed. Dean was ten years your senior? That was actually all manner of hot. And again, more experience.

You see, not being able to find a steady guy to hook up with had been frustrating, not just because you couldn't get yours, but also because you were curious about sex. You liked sex. A lot. In fact you'd wanted sex more often than Ian, your ex. You'd also wanted to talk about it more. You wanted to know what felt good to him, wanted to practice new techniques, new positions. You wanted to explore sex. You wanted to learn how to be good at it. But Ian had been an all missionary, all the time kind of guy. And he had been far to shy to give you any effective feedback, even when you were practically begging for it. The guys at your college had been no better. But Dean. Now _Dean_ was looking like an excellent candidate. And hell if a little warning on Bobby's part was going to keep you away.

So, you responded noncommittally to all of Bobby's moralizing, all the while fantasizing about what Dean was going to be like in bed. Once Bobby had exhausted his list of why Dean was a very bad choice, he sighed and leaned back. Seeing that nothing he said was going to deter you, he finally said, "Fine, you wanna go down that path, I can't stop you. But I _don't _wanna hear about it. You understand me? I don't wanna know a damn thing about what you and Dean get up to. I don't wanna hear it, I don't wanna see it, hell I don't wanna even be in the house when it's happening."

You smiled, this was as close to having Bobby's blessing as you'd ever gotten. "I promise, you won't know a thing."

"And if this comes back on me, you tell your momma that you ran after that boy come hell or high water, yourself."

"Yes, Bobby. I'll tell her I threw myself at him, nothing you could do."

Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed. "I am so glad I never had girls."

You stood up and hugged Bobby tightly. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah. Go tell him I give up, he's in the library."

You bounded out of the room, excited to have on less obstacle between yourself and Dean.

When you reached the library, you found Dean leaning back in a chair, throwing a ball that you knew to be a priceless artifact up in the air and then catching it, over and over, while Sam read something to him off of his laptop. You leaned against the doorway, making sure to emphasize your curves, as you said, "Hey, Dean can I talk to you for a second?"

Dean caught the ball, and looked up at you, surprised. "I-uh, don't know that that would be such a good idea," he said hesitantly. Looks like you were getting nervous Dean for this conversation.

Jeez, what had Bobby said to him? "Are you sure about that?" you said provocatively.

Dean gulped. "I-uh, I-you should. You should talk to Bobby, Y/N."

"I did," you responded, still using your husky voice, letting your slightly too large Cold Chisel t-shirt slip off one shoulder. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Sam was looking at you uncomfortably, you had practically forgotten he was in the room. "I'll just, I'll just go," he said, grabbing his laptop and all but sprinting from the room. Clearly he had enough experience with his brother to know that he didn't want to be around for any part of this.

"Bitch," Dean muttered as Sam left the room.

You walked towards Dean slowly. You saw his eye roam over your body, even though you could tell he was desperately trying not to do just that. "Cool-uh-cool band," he said, referring to your shirt.

"Thanks," you said, looking down at where their name was emblazoned across your breasts, and plucking the shirt lightly. "So I talked to Bobby," you said still making your way over to Dean.

"Yeah?" was all that Dean responded. You could see him still fighting like hell to shove every flirtatious instinct he had down deep, it was actually kind of cute.

"Well, I'm glad to say he's changed his mind," you replied smiling.

Dean looked up at you incredulously, "Bobby?"

"Yeah, Bobby."

"Bobby. Bobby who owns this house Bobby, _he _changed his mind?"

You chuckled. You understood why Dean was having trouble believing this, Bobby was a stubborn son of a gun. "Yeah," you said, stopping in front of Dean, a little closer than was strictly necessary. "I guess he's not as good at saying no to girls."

"Guess not," Dean scoffed. He looked up at you hopefully, with a little bit of that mischievous twinkle you'd seen when you first met him. "So, I'm not gonna wake up one morning with a full Bobbitt if I take you to bed?" he said reaching for your hips.

You smiled down at him, "Definitely not." If _that _was what Bobby had threatened him with, you now completely understood Dean's apprehension when it came to you. Reassured that sleeping with you would not mean sacrificing the ability to do so with any other girl ever again, Dean yanked you by the hips into his lap. He had his hand around the back of your neck and his mouth against yours before you knew what was happening. Good _god _he was a good kisser. You moulded your mouth to his, moaning when he pushed his tongue against the seam of your lips. You felt wild, and hot, as his hands traced your body. It took you a full five minutes, and Dean grabbing your ass, for you to remember Bobby's one rule: he didn't want to know. You were pretty sure that making out in one of the common rooms of his house could very quickly wind up breaking that rule. You pulled back, and Dean followed you, confused for a moment, before understanding what you were doing.

"Not," you breathed heavily, "Not in the house. Bobby said-"

Dean didn't care about the rest of that sentence. Not in the house? He could fix that. He didn't need to know why. Without a word, he stood up with you in tow, causing you to squeal and instinctively wrap your legs and arms around him so you wouldn't fall off. With you clinging to him, Dean tromped up the stairs to Sam's room. He rapped on the closed door and called out, "Sammy! Taking Y/N to a motel, tell Bobby the least traumatizing version of that, okay?"

"Jesus, Dean," Sam called back, clearly not wanting to know that.

Dean chuckled. "Don't wait up." And made his way back down the stairs, and out the door to the Impala, with you still wrapped around him.

Your first night together with Dean wound up being not just great, but more spectacular than you could have possibly imagined. Dean knew what he was doing. Dean _really _knew what he was doing. You came more times, and tried more new things in one night with him than you had in two years with Ian. A motel had definitely been the right idea, because Dean had kept you up all night, and had you moaning so much and with such volume, that you were quite certain that had you stayed at Bobby's house, he would have disowned both of you.

On your second night together, you had asked Dean to teach you how to give a good blowjob. He looked as though Christmas had come early. "Fuck, yeah," he muttered lowly.

Girls never asked. Girls never asked, and he hated that. Dean _loved _communication in sex. Touch me there, a little harder, bit more to the left. Every body was different, and while Dean was damn good at figuring shit out himself, it was _way _easier when the girl just fuckin' told you. It was the same for him. He would have loved to tell the girls: "Hey, I like sucking better than biting. " "It's great when you're on top." "Your moaning is one of my favorite things, stop putting your hand over your mouth and turn the volume up." But so often, the girls had been taught not to talk, had been told that their needs were not worthy in sex, and that if he gave them instruction, it was a criticism. Now, this wasn't all girls, and some girls he could coax out of this mindset a little bit. But _none _of them had ever been so bold as to come straight out and ask for instruction.

So when you asked Dean to teach you, he had made sure that you knew that this went both ways, that he would love some instruction too. You were elated. You hadn't expected him to react so positively to your request. In truth, you'd thought he might find it a little strange.

Eager to get started, you'd tried to immediately drop to your knees in front of a half naked Dean, but he'd grabbed you underneath your armpits and pulled you back up before you could hit the ground. "Whoa! Hey there, slow down." He looked you in the eye, and ran a hand along your side. "Number one mistake girls make. Going straight for the dick. Not that that can't be hot sometimes, but guys like some foreplay too. As long as you make it clear that you're gonna suck him, a guy will wait."

"How do I make sure he knows?"

Dean shrugged, "Tell him."

You nodded and leaned in to kiss Dean's neck. "Dean," you said in between kisses, "Wanna suck you."

Dean shuddered slightly, "That's good, Y/N. Real good. You know what's even hotter though?"

"What?" you asked, still mouthing at Dean's neck. Dean wound his fingers into your hair and pulled you back.

He looked at you with a smoldering gaze that made you weak at the knees. "Eye contact," he said lowly. "Own it. Let the guy know that you're gonna suck him off, and you're gonna like it. Try to look like you haven't got an ounce of shame." You smoldered back at him as best you could. "Yeah, like that. Self confidence is sexy, and you gotta have confidence to look a guy in the eye and tell him you're gonna blow him. Now say it again."

It definitely _was _harder looking Dean in the eye while you said it, but you also got a certain rush, watching the desire roll over his face as you said, "Dean, I'm gonna suck your cock."

"Yeah, tell me what you're gonna do."

"Gonna lick it all over, till you're begging me, and then I'm gonna give you the best blow job you've ever gotten in your life."

"_Nice_," Dean said, grinning and trying to joke, even though you could see how much your words had affected him. You continued to look up at him, waiting for your next set of instructions. "Oh, right," Dean said, remembering, "Okay, now kiss your way down to my belt, take your time." You did as you were told, with Dean instructing you on his how and where he liked to be touched the whole way. Once you were finally on your knees in front of him, Dean said, "Good. Now, take of your bra for me. Wanna see you," You nodded easily, and reached behind yourself to take off your bra. In the process, you looked down, and Dean immediately prompted you. "Hey, hey, eyes up here." You immediately looked up. "Eye contact is your friend when giving blow jobs. I'm telling you, Y/N, guys eat that shit up." You nodded again, and this time looking up at Dean, you pulled your bra off seductively. You had to admit, looking up at Dean's face from this vantage point _was _pretty hot.

"What now?" you asked, running your hands up Dean's denim clad legs. Dean took a moment to respond, he looked pretty distracted by your boobs.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry, Y/N," Dean said smiling down at you sheepishly. "You got- those are really great," he said.

You smiled back, before cupping your breasts in your hands and playing with them while you looked down contemplatively. "Yeah, they are pretty great, huh?"

"Fuck, Y/N," Dean said, looking tempted to get entirely off track.

You let go of them abruptly and cupped Dean's crotch in your hand, popping your head back up to look at him brightly. "C'mon, Dean. What's next?" Dean grunted and you saw his hands flex.

He took a deep breath, "Right, yeah, okay. So now what you wanna do is just what you're doing now, rub him through his pants while you kiss along the waistband, yeah just there." You rubbed Dean's erection, while you sucked the skin just above his jeans. "Alright," Dean said swallowing thickly, "Next you're gonna, get his belt open, looking-yeah just like that." You gazed up at him, eyes dark, as you pulled the leather of his belt through the buckle. With the belt open, you instinctively ran your hands along Dean's thighs again, kissing the skin just above the button. "Yeah, that's it," Dean groaned encouragingly. "Make me pant for it." You reached up and undid the button his jeans and then tried to get the zip down with your teeth, but the metal actually kind of hurt, and it was kind of hard to get it to move. Dean grinned, "Harder than it looks in porn huh?" You nodded, frustrated. "It's fine, Y/N, that move's kind of overrated anyway. It always just makes me think of teeth near my junk, and that's something that no guy wants." Glad of the advice, you instead undid Dean's zip with your hands. "Yeah, much better," Dean said. "Now pull my jeans off. Hey, no, just the jeans." You did as you were bid, and helped Dean step out of his jeans once they were on the floor. You looked back up at him eagerly. "See that," Dean said cupping your face, "That's good. Looking like you're excited to give me head is _really _fucking flattering. I mean, guys, we love our dicks; we think they're great. They're our buddies. But not everyone else agrees with us, so when we find a girl that seems to think our dicks are pretty cool too?" He made an explosion sound, and shot his hand upwards, "Through the roof. Out egos just go crazy. Cause we're like, "Yeah, my dick. She likes _my_ dick. Other dicks, maybe not so much. But mine, man? My buddy? She thinks he's alright." "

You grinned up at him. Only Dean could be utterly adorable while talking about dicks. You pressed a light kiss to the head of his aforementioned dick through his underwear. "Well, yours _is _pretty awesome."

Dean's answering smile was radiant. He made the explosion noise and hand motion again. "Best thing you coulda said to me."

You ran your hands over his thighs, and pressed a long lick to his cotton covered shaft. "Anything I can do to get it in my mouth?" you asked lightly.

Dean groaned, and instinctively ran a hand through your hair. "Just-uh- fuck yeah. Do that for a minute. That whole so close, but so far thing. That's kind of mess with your head hot." Happy to comply, you licked and sucked at Dean, until the cotton of his underwear was hot, wet, and sticking to him. "Alright, alright. That's good. Now pull them off slowly." You hooked your fingers over the waistband of his tight black boxer briefs, and pulled down, keeping your eyes on Dean the whole time. Once you had them off, you chanced a look down at Dean's cock. You hadn't been lying before, Dean's cock was pretty nice, as far as cocks went. It was a couple shades paler than the rest of him, and thick. It curved upwards in a way that was oddly appealing, and leaned slightly to the left. Wanting to touch him, you reached up and started pumping him slowly. "Spit first," Dean prompted. "Never such a thing as too wet when it comes to hand jobs." You hadn't known that. Instead of spitting, which you personally didn't find appealing, you started to lick your palm. You laid criss-crossing long licks over your right hand from the base of your palm all the way out to your fingertips. You saw Dean's gaze darken. "Fuck, yeah, that's even better." Good. You kept going, until your palm was just about as wet as you could get it. Then you started stroking Dean again. Dean threw his head back and let out a satisfied groan. You had to admit, your hand was sliding more smoothly than you were used to. "Little, little tighter, and a little slower," Dean said. You did so. "Just like that, yeah. Now start licking the head. Make sure to really get in on that underside where the head meets the shaft. Only do that if the guy's warmed up though, it can be a little too much early on." You pressed a series of long licks to the head of Dean's penis, and sure enough, when you pressed your tongue to the part he's talked about, he let out a low groan that made you shiver. "Okay, now, play with my balls," Dean instructed breathlessly.

"How?" you asked. You always wondered exactly what it was you were supposed to do with a guy's balls.

"Cup them in your hand."

"Like this?" you asked, reaching up and fondling Dean's balls.

"Yeah like that. Okay, now go gentle. That's the key here. Mostly I'm happy if you just keep 'em warm, but if you could kind of move your hand a little, ah, yeah, right there. Good job. That's- oh man, that's good." You saw Dean's whole body relax, as you rolled his balls in your hand. "Now-uh- totally okay if you don't want to, but it feels real good if you lick- see that line running up between my balls there?"

"Yeah," you replied, you saw what he was talking about.

"If you-uh," Dean was clearly starting to find it harder to get words out, "If you lick there, just right up the line, oh man it feels great."

"Like this?" you asked as you ducked your head down, and dragged your tongue along the line bisecting Dean's ballsack. Dean grunted like he'd been punched in the stomach, and you could feel his nuts draw up slightly.

"Fuck. Do that again." You acquiesced and ran your tongue along the line several more times, until Dean had stopped breathing, and was clenching his hand in your hair. "Okay, okay, okay, stop," Dean said sucking in a deep breath at last. You did nothing but jack Dean slowly for a moment while he got his breath back. "Whew! Damn, Y/N been a long time since a girl's done that."

You pressed a kiss to his hip, affectionately. "Happy to do it."

"You're awesome," Dean replied heartily. "Really, Y/N."

"Thanks, Dean. Now tell me what to do next," you said wanting to get back on track. You were enjoying this; you were learning so much.

Dean sucked in another deep breath, and widened his stance slightly, seemingly re-centering himself. "Okay, Y/N. Now that I'm good and turned on. I want you to start sucking me," you went to put your mouth around him and drop the hand you had on his shaft, but Dean reached for your wrist with his free hand. "Nuh-uh, Y/N. Keep that hand there. Keep stroking. You want to use that to take care of the rest of me while you use your mouth on the head."

"But what about deep throating?"

"Can you do that yet?" Dean asked.

You shook your head, "I thought you could teach me."

" 'Fraid not, Y/N. As far as I can tell it just kind of a build up thing. You just gotta keep practicing until you can keep your body from freaking out. There was one girl I met once who did this trick with her thumb, but she said it was kind of hit or miss. It doesn't matter though, even if you _do _learn how to do that one day, you wanna use it sparingly. The _idea _of deep throating is better than the actual feel of the thing. So I wouldn't worry too much about it." Hmm, interesting. "So what you wanna do is get your hand wet again, there we go, and keep jacking me while you start sucking me off." You put your lips around the head of Dean's dick and sucked. Dean let out a bone deep groan, and you felt his hands clench in your hair again. "Good girl, you got it. Keep those teeth covered, there we go. Now let my hands guide you, I promise I won't take you too deep," Dean said as he started to use his hands to guide your mouth up and down his shaft. You kept your hand moving in time with your mouth and Dean moaned your name. "Thatta girl, suck a little harder. Shit, yeah. Now, use your tongue, if you can, bit like rubbing your stomach and patting your head, I know. Just run it on the underside of my dick. C'mon, you got this, Y/N." Dean kept encouraging you as you tried to get the hang of keeping your suction up while also moving your tongue along the underside of his cock. Once you eventually got it down, Dean praised you, and then reminded you to keep looking at him. When you flashed your eyes up, you saw Dean looking down at you biting his lip. "Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you look good. So good with my dick in your mouth." You moaned around him at his praise, and Dean threw his head back with another curse. "Shit! Shit, fuck!" He dropped his head to look at you again. You moaned once more, this time deliberately. Dean moaned in response and then let out a breathless laugh. "Catch on quick, huh?" You nodded slightly, still sucking him down. "Shit, alright. Fuck this is good." Dean took another deep breath trying to get himself under control. "We need to talk about coming. If you can swallow, that's really hot, but letting be shoot onto your tits is great too. A lot of guys like face, but that's not really my bag." You considered your options briefly, before deciding that you'd like to go ahead and swallow. It always felt kind of unpleasant going down, but you didn't much mind it.

You pulled off Dean with a pop. "Wanna swallow, Dean," you said, in the sexiest voice you could manage, maintaining that eye contact that he kept talking about.

"Shit, Y/N, you sure?" You nodded, taking him back in your mouth. "Fuck. Now, change your mind, you go ahead and spit, doesn't hurt my feelings none." You bobbed your head in understanding. You liked that Dean kept giving you outs, he'd done that the first time you'd slept together too. Last night, he kept letting you know that any point you wanted to stop was fine with him. It made you feel so comfortable. You were going to miss Dean when he left.

But that wasn't what was important now. What was important was sucking Dean off. You had so much new information running through your head, that it was tough to keep up with all of it at the same time. Look up, play with his balls, cover your teeth, suck hard, use your tongue, pump the rest with your hand. Dean was right, it was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time. Dean was giving you very few new instructions now. He was mostly making pleasured noises, praising you, and cursing. He'd occasionally grunt out a short instruction like, "Hand on the shaft tighter," or "Tongue a bit to the left," but other than that, he simply guided the movement of your head with his hands. You rubbed your legs together. The way he was looking at you, _christ, _it felt like he was going to set you ablaze with his gaze alone. The moan you let out when Dean licked his lips and dropped a particularly punched out, "Motherfucker," was just about the last straw for Dean. "Faster," was all he said, and you obeyed, jerking him off quickly, while he kept your head still, and had you just suck the head of his dick. You felt Dean's balls tense up, just after Dean warned you, "Gonna come. Oh fuck, gonna come." And then he was coming in your mouth. You distantly tasted the hot bitterness of his release on your tongue, but you were mostly consumed with the look on Dean's face when he came. His brow scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut, mouth dropped open, and he kept letting out the hottest little ah's that were almost high pitched considering Dean's normal voice. You swallowed, still caught up in Dean's face. You pulled your mouth off of him, but knew enough to keep stroking Dean for another couple of seconds until you saw his whole body go lax. Once it had, you let go of his dick, and ran your hands gently over every part of him that you could reach, all over his thighs, belly, lower back, and ass, waiting for Dean to come back to himself. He slowly opened his eyes, and looked down at you as though you were the most wonderful thing in the world. "Now _that _was a blow job," he said a moment later, grin back in place.

"I learned from the best," you teased back.

"Yeah, speaking of which, it's your turn." You grinned excitedly and scrambled up onto the bed. "You gonna teach me a thing or two, little Y/N?" Dean asked climbing after you.

You pulled off your panties, and boldly spread your legs, eager to get Dean between them again. You winked, "Class is in session, Mr. Winchester."

Dean, equally eager, spread his hands over your thighs, and bent down so his breath was ghosting over your pussy. "Physical Education always was my favorite subject." You were going to laugh, but got cut short by Dean diving in, and licking a long stripe up your center. No wonder Dean liked it, you had a feeling that this was a class he was going to pass with flying colors.


	26. Not usual clothingdress up- Sam-Dean

**Summary: **Due to a series of misunderstandings Sam and Dean haven't slept together since Sam got back from Stanford. It's been five months of sexual frustration and mutual pining, when Sam shows up in a priest outfit. Dean's only ever talked about his priest kink to one person, and it wasn't Sam. So Sam is completely bowled over when he walks through the door and suddenly Dean is on him like white on rice.

What follows is probably the most blasphemous fic you will ever read.

**Warnings: **Did I meantion, blasphemy, like whoa! I mean really, full on quoting scripture, accurate confessional, call me Father Winchester, dressed like a priest, _blasphemy._

Also while the bulk of this fic is set in season one (during "Nightmare" specifically), there is some fairly in depth discussion of Sam and Dean's relationship starting when Sam's seventeen, and Dean fantasizing about him before that.

Finally, bottom!Dean, top!Sam

It had been five months since Jess's death. Five months of being back on the road with his brother. Five months of podunk towns and low level monsters, and they _still _hadn't slept together.

It was both of their faults really. Sam thought that Dean still hadn't forgiven him for going away to Stanford. Or at the very least that Dean felt like he couldn't trust him in that way again. He and Dean had been sleeping together for just under a year when Sam left. The timing had been particularly harsh, because it made Dean believe that Sam had finally put his reservations aside and made their relationship sexual precisely _because _Sam knew that it was only going to be a temporary thing. In truth, knowing he was leaving _had _been a big factor in Sam deciding that his love for his brother was more important than any taboo, but it had been a far less calculated decision than Dean assumed. Furthermore, Sam _certainly _hadn't wanted his time with Dean to only last a year. The idea of leaving Dean had put such a heaving hole in his chest that Sam had simply _needed _to be with Dean, logic hadn't been a big part of it. At the time, he had rather recklessly hoped that Dean would come with him. In the end, Dean had found out in the worst way possible, and Sam hadn't been able to convince Dean that he sincerely wanted Dean to come to Stanford with him. It had been such an ugly, blow out fight, that even though so much of their dynamic had fallen back into place over the last five months, Sam couldn't bring himself to ask Dean for that particular aspect of their relationship back. Surely if Dean wanted to pick up where they'd left off, he'd tell him.

Dean meanwhile, was still convinced that Sam had only wanted him for a fling. He had loved Sammy all his life, as much as he imagined any human could love another. When his love had slowly started to turn sexual, at first Dean had trouble noticing that it was actually different. When he'd started taking notice of Sam's body parts in a more than general way, he'd assumed that it was just pride. Yeah, his brother had great hips, go Sammy. He had long legs, he should be proud. It felt like admiring a piece of art in a gallery. Sam was amazing, shouldn't he be admired? Then when Dean started getting frustrated at Sammy's girlfriends, that had made perfect sense to him too. Sam was so awesome, that girl clearly wasn't worthy of him. Why did Sam risk those girls finding out more than they should, bringing them around the motel like that? At first it didn't even register as jealousy to Dean, it just seemed like a natural outgrowth of his need to protect Sam. If he pictured himself holding Sam afterwards, that was natural too; Sam was _always_ safe with Dean. It hadn't been until Dean woke up from a very vidid dream about Sammy, to find his boxers sticky, and his body sweaty, that Dean had understood. This was a new kind of love. Dean wasn't ashamed of his feelings, there was no one more worthy of love than Sammy, he simply didn't feel that he deserved Sam. So he kept his thoughts to himself. He beat off regularly, thinking about Sam, and risked John's wrath by dating guys just so that it was easier to picture Sam when he was having sex. He never breathed a word of it to Sam, but Sam was nothing if not a bright kid. He figured it out halfway through his sixteenth year, and even though he didn't say anything to Dean, it hung like an unacknowledged miasma in the room for six months. Dean had never been happier than when Sam had made a move on him, just one month after Sam's seventeenth birthday. Dean had just gotten back from a case that he and Dad had left Sammy at home for. Dad had dropped Dean off at the motel, saying he had to run a quick errand. Sam must have heard the car pull away again, because when Dean walked in the room, Sammy had immediately shoved him against the door and kissed him. Dean had been on cloud nine. Low self worth or not, he couldn't say no to Sam.

So, when he found out that Sam had been planning on leaving the whole time, Dean hadn't been surprised. He'd been hurt, sure. Angry? Yeah. But not surprised. And now with Sam back by his side, Dean figured that even if Sam _did _still want him, it would just be for another fling. Dean didn't think he could handle that a second time. The first time around, at least he hadn't _known_ he was a fling while it was happening. This time he would know. He would know and it would hurt. He knew if Sam asked though, he would be on his knees in a second. Sam had filled out while at Stanford, and he'd somehow gotten even taller. Dean had trouble thinking of just about anything other than how good it would feel to be underneath Sam again. He wanted to see all those new muscles for himself, wanted to see how different Sam looked naked now. He kept getting glimpses of Sam's body as they chased monsters around the country. A flash of hip here. A sliver of lower back there. It wasn't nearly enough, and it was driving Dean crazy. Clearly Sam had had a good time while he was away at college, Dean wanted to see what Sam had learned. Sam was more confident, more sure of himself now, Dean wanted to know if that translated to the bedroom. Dean wanted Sam like he'd never wanted anything in his life. It was worse than when they were young, because this time Dean _knew._ Dean _knew _that the reality of sleeping with Sammy was better than anything his naive imagination had ever dreamed up.

So in sum, Dean wasn't going to be the one to rip his own heart out, but if Sam asked, he wasn't going to be able to say no. He had never been able to say no.

That was where they stood when Sam had that freaky vision that sent them to Saginaw, Michigan. It wasn't until Sam had to go buy a black button up and a clerical collar that Dean realized that he'd never seen Sam in a priest getup before. Shit. _ShitShitShtiSHIT__**SHIT! **_Ooooh, he was so screwed. Dean's priest kink was something he'd only explored once before, but it had been the most explosive non-Sam sex he'd ever had. He'd been nineteen, and going out with a guy named Dale for about a week. Chipmunk name aside, Dale had been _hot._ Hot _and _kinky. Just a week in, after offering up some of his own, he had asked Dean to tell him a kink he'd never confessed to anyone before. Primed by the word "confess" Dean had blurted out that he had a thing for priests before he even knew what he was doing. Dale had just grinned and told him that while he didn't have a cassock, he did know a few bible verses. They had wound up role playing with Dale throwing in whatever bits of scripture he could, and when they fucked Dean managed to come _twice. _

Shit. Shit. He was so fucked. He probably had at least a half hour to get himself as prepared as he could for Sammy's return. He immediately grabbed the lube out of his duffle and dashed to the bathroom. He stripped off all his clothes and started striping his hand up and down his cock. He was already hard at just the brief thought of Sam dressed as a priest. He lubed up his fingers and started to finger his hole as he let himself fall headlong into a fantasy about Sam fucking him in a confessional booth. His balls drew up and he was shooting over the counter sooner than he would have liked. After perfunctorily rinsing himself off, he got back into his regular clothes, and walked out of the bathroom. He crossed to his duffle and started pulling out his own priest outfit, trying not to think about what the fabric felt like, trying not to think about what it would feel like on Sam. He had just found all the pieces he needed and was about to go grab the ironing board, when he heard the slam of a car door. Sam was back. It was sooner than he had anticipated, but that was no big deal it's not like he was-

Sam walked through the door. And Dean's mouth went dry.

He was in the priest uniform. _Why was he in the priest uniform?_ He was just supposed to get the shirt- and…fuck Dean's brain was not working. Sam's lips were moving. He was talking. Probably explaining why he was wearing the whole goddamn thing. He had his hair gelled. He looked so much older, so much more like a man without the Justin Beiber fringe falling over his eyes. Why was that hot? Why was any of this hot? Dean couldn't breathe. Sam was getting closer. Why was Sam walking towards…no wait, it was him. _Dean _was walking towards _Sam_, not the other way around. When had that happened? Sam looked surprised. Quickly advancing, silent, and with no idea what his own face was doing, even Dean had to admit, he must be a strange sight. Then he was standing in front of Sam, right up in his face. He looked so good. So, so good. Dean leaned in and kissed him. Ah, so that's what he was doing. Dean hadn't known that was what he was going to do until he was already doing it. It jump started his brain and the first thing Dean decided was that no matter how much a one night stand with Sam would break him, he was going to beg for just that.

He pulled back slightly and started pressing desperate kisses to a bewildered, but horny, Sam's neck. "Don't care, don't care if it's just tonight, Sam. _Need _you. Need you, please." Dean never begged for anyone but Sammy.

Already out of breath, Sam gasped, "What? Dean what are you-"

"Look I know you don't want long term. But I just can't with the priest get up, and you with the muscles, and I can't anymore, Sammy." Confessions were tumbling out of him like Sam's clerical collar had some kind of magical powers.

Sam was shoving Dean back by the shoulders. "No. Fuck no. Don't say no to this," Dean thought.

"What do you mean I don't want long term?" Dean blinked up at him, confused. "Christ, Dean is this still about the Stanford thing?" Dean didn't know what to say. He just wanted to say whatever he needed to in order to get Sammy to stop yelling and start kissing him again. Sam was taking his face and cradling it in his mammoth hands. "I _told _you. I told you a million times, I wanted you to come with me." Why was he still lying? Dean must have made a face, because Sam looked both hurt and frustrated. "Why won't you believe me?" Dean paused, he didn't want to answer that. "Dean, _answer _me," Sam demanded. He could never say no to Sam.

Dean looked away, ashamed. "C'mon, Sammy. Look at me, man."

"I am, Dean. I am looking right at you." Dean made himself look up at Sam. Sam was looking at him with what even Dean could see was love. "I don't want this to be one night, Dean."

Dean felt his heart skip a beat. "You really did want me to go to with you," Dean said, finally believing after all those years of denial.

Sam nodded solemnly, tears pricking his eyes. "So much. I needed you with me, Dean."

Dean's stomach dropped. He must have hurt Sammy so badly when he said no. When he refused to believe him and left him alone. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry, Sammy."

"You should be, jerk," Sam said with a half smile, blinking back his tears.

"Bitch," Dean replied, gaining control of his emotions with considerable struggle. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Whoo, I think that's enough chickflick moments to last us a lifetime, huh, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head and leaned down for a kiss. Dean chose odd times to be macho. Right before he'd been about to get dicked down had always been a popular one for Dean, for reasons that Sam could never quite puzzle out.

Dean leaned into the kiss, sex drive ramping right back up at having Sam's lips on his. Sam pushed his tongue into Dean's mouth, and Dean couldn't help the groan that came pouring out of him. _sammysammysammy_ Sam _had _become a better kisser while he was at college. The dominant, take charge attitude that had just started to make itself known in Sam at seventeen, was now in full bloom at twenty two. Sam put his hands on Dean's waist, turned him around, and all but slammed him up against the door. Dean groaned louder. Fuck yes. This was the Sam he wanted. Sam kissed Dean until Dean was so out of breath that he was starting to get light headed. Sam pulled back, stopping Dean from following him with one broad hand spanning his clavicle. Dean grunted, and looked up at Sam, chest heaving. Sam was looking down at him, his tilted cat eyes, dark. Dean shivered, and wet his lips unconsciously.

"So you like priests, Dean?" Sam said lowly.

Dean nodded in response, even though it hadn't really been a question. Sam's eyed him hungrily. There was a hint of a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth as he asked, "How long has it been since your last confession?"

Dean's mind went white. Holy shit. He sunk back agains the door, just barely able to keep his eyes on Sam's. If he thought his breathing had been ragged before….

"Dean?" Sam prompted, in that same deadly even tone.

Dean sucked in a breath. "Six-shit-six years ago."

The repressed smirk bloomed on Sam's face. "Now, Dean, that's not how you start a confession. Did you ever go to a confessional?" Dean shook his head mutely. "It's okay, Dean, I'll guide you through it." Dean could barely nod. _Damn_, Sam had turned full on dom while he was away. "Good. Now repeat after me: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Shirt. "I-in the name of the F-father, and of the Ssson, and-and of the Holy Spirit." The hand at his clavicle was tracing light patterns over his skin now. How was he supposed to get through this without coming in his pants?

"My last confession was six years ago," Sam's voice was so calm and even. It seemed utterly unfair to Dean, whose voice was shakier than a drunk chick in heels.

"My last- my last confess-confession was six years ago."

"Good, Dean. Now, the priest always says a piece of scripture here, but I'm sure my choice would be considered pretty out of the ordinary." Dean felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Sam voice was dropping just like it did before he talked dirty, but there couldn't be anything _too _dirty in the bible, could there? "My lover thrust his hand," Sam's free hand, trailed from Dean's waist down between his legs, and cupped. Dean moaned and thrust into Sam's hand, but Sam continued on the same rock steady voice. "Through the latch-opening," he squeezed slightly. "My heart began to pound for him," Sam pressed his lower half closer to Dean. Dean couldn't stop looking at the collar now. Thinking what this would be like if Sam was _really _a priest, breaking his vows for the pretty man that stumbled into his church. "I arose to open for my lover, and my hands dripped with myrrh, on the handles of the lock." Sam's voice should be illegal. Full on, lethal weapon illegal. How had he made the fucking _Bible _sound like a penthouse forum story? Dean was trembling slightly as Sam said, "Now tell me your sins."

Dean's mouth moved but no sound came out. Oh god, Sam expected him to talk? He just wanted to fuck now. He needed Sam inside him. Eventually that was what came out. "I wanna fuck my priest," Dean said impulsively. Either understanding that this was Dean breaking, or simply breaking himself, Sam plastered the length of his body to Dean's and claimed his mouth in a rough kiss. He pulled Dean's shirt off, and shoved Dean's pants and underwear off impatiently. Dean was pretty sure it was the fastest Sam had ever stripped him. Sam reluctantly pulled away, his voice rough he ordered, "Grab the lube, I'll get undressed."

He got his jacket off before Dean could intervene, "No wait! Leave- leave it on. Please?"

Sam's responding grin and kiss were both filthy. "Kinky," he said with one more kiss. "You always this kinky, Dean? Or that something new you got when I went away?" he asked in a way that sounded too sordid to be teasing.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean replied, but his own breathlessness stole the majority of the bite from his words.

Sam continued smiling, as he pulled his body away from Dean's and walked to his duffle. "In your duffle right?" he asked, just as he found it sitting right on top. He turned back to Dean and raised his eyebrows, "You have some fun while I was gone, Dean?"

Dean was still plastered to the door. Sam's teasing question kickstarted his brain, and he peeled himself away from the cheap motel wood, and made his way to the bed, determined to make Sam as out of his mind horny as he was. He climbed up on the bed on all fours and once he was centered, he pushed his shoulders down to the bed and arched his back, spreading his knees wide. "What do _you _think, Sam? It look like I had some fun?" Dean had gotten four of his fingers inside himself in the bathroom, trying to simulate Sam's thick length, he knew he had to still look at least a little open.

"Jesus," Sam muttered.

"Thought priests weren't supposed to take the lord's name in-oh fuck!" Sam had gotten himself across the room, and pressed two lubed fingers into Dean in record time. "Shit, Sam, warn a guy."

"Sorry," Sam said distractedly, pumping his fingers in and out of Dean's prepped asshole.

"Don't be," Dean replied. "Oh god, Sam!"

Sam pushed a third finger into Dean. "That's Father Winchester, Dean."

A whole body shudder wracked Dean. "Father! Father Winchester, _please_."

"Be patient, my son. Your salvation will come to you soon." Sam replied, pressing a fourth finger into Dean. Dean had never been so glad of his quickly adjusting body before in his life. Sam's fingers felt long and thick and perfect inside him. Sam pumped them in and out slowly, clearly wanting to make sure Dean was ready before he did anything more. Dean could feel Sam's fingers brushing against his prostate no matter how much Sam tried to avoid it, and it wasn't long before Dean was non-stop wriggling against the sheets, needing some kind of outlet for what he was feeling.

"Father Winchester," Dean said breathlessly. "I'm ready. Fuck, I'm ready, please."

Sam flipped Dean over onto his back with an ease he wouldn't have been able to manage before college. Dean looked up at him, in complete awe. Sam was kneeling upright between Dean's spread legs, he had his lube slick cock in one hand and was crossing himself with the other. "Petite et dabitur vobis," he intoned, looking a Dean as though he could burn up a human being using the heat of his gaze alone. Sam pushed Dean's legs up, and Dean spread them high and wide, managing to grab the backs of his own thighs purely on instinct. Sam leaned over Dean, still covered in the black of the priesthood from head to toe save for the flash of white collar at his throat, and the line of his cock protruding from the fly of his pants. Sam lined himself up with Dean's hole, and rubbed himself along it, teasing the sensitive skin there. Sam looked down at Dean, unbelieving at his good luck. Dean was so beautiful right now. Glowing with a light sheen of sweat, gaze out of focus with lust, his light coating of freckles visible even in this low light. Sam had never loved anyone more. "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good," Sam said, almost sincere in his gratefulness to that higher power, as he pushed himself inside of his brother.

Dean jerked and moaned, clenching his own thighs tightly. "Sam!" he called, thinking of nothing but how good it felt to have Sam inside him again. Sam took up a quick pace, well aware that neither of them were going to last very long. He fucked himself into Dean roughly, the smack of his hips against the skin of Dean's ass echoing through the room. Dean groaned louder, and let go of his legs so that he could wrap them around Sam's waist. The change in position cause Sam to start hitting his prostate dead on, and Dean let out a yell. He threw his arms around Sam's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Huffing, and being rocked constantly by Sam's thrusts, Dean pushed his tongue into the hot, wet cavern of Sam's mouth needily. Sam groaned, wishing for the first time that afternoon that, fuck-hot priest kink or not, he was naked against Dean. But Dean was whimpering into his mouth, and Dean felt so amazing around him that Sam knew that neither of them was going to last very long. Sure enough, just moments later, Dean pulled back with a cry of, "Sammy!" and tensing up shot his cum all over his own belly. Sam leaned down closer, and buried his face in Dean's neck with a, "Fuck, Dean!" Sam held on for a little longer, not wanting to leave the scorching hot, wet pressure of Dean's ass. But soon Dean's over sensitized whimpers got the better of him, and Sam came too, pushing in, and jetting his seed deep inside Dean.

Once he was done coming, Sam went boneless over Dean, just barely managing to not put all his weight on his older brother. He laid there, still hard inside Dean, just breathing with him, for as long as he could. But eventually he went soft and slipped out, at which point he flopped down next to Dean with a reluctant groan. Luckily Dean immediately followed his body, curling up next to him and kissing him lightly. After about a minute, Dean started laughing in the middle of a kiss.

Sam pulled back, "What?"

Still laughing, Dean pointed down at Sam's shirt, which some point during all of the cuddling and fucking, had gotten Dean's come smeared all over it. Sam let out a breathy laugh, and shrugged his mouth. "Think that's gonna be a problem?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I think the woman we're interviewing _might _get a little suspicious if you show up at her house with my protein shake all over your shirt."

Sam shrugged and leaned up slightly, pulling it off along with the collar. "Less suspicious?" he asked, laying back down next to Dean.

"Not quite, buddy," Dean said, pointing down at his come stained paints.

Sam dramatically sighed, and took those off too. "How about now?"

"Oh, yeah. Naked priest, _way _less suspicious, Sammy."

Sam sighed again, "Well what do you want from me, Dean?"

"I want you," Dean said seductively, trailing a finger along Sam's collarbone. "To go throw those in the washer, and then," Dean paused for effect, Sam was eating this up. "Come back and fuck me. I want you to hold me down and pound me until I can't walk straight, Sammy."

Sam leapt off the bed the minute that Dean said "fuck me." He was out the door carrying his clothes, wearing a pair of inside out sweatpants and nothing else before Dean had even finished saying his name.

_Petite et dabitur vobis- Ask and you shall receive._

_The bible verse Sam quotes is from the Song of Songs (because of course it is.)_  
><em>It's 5: 3-5, if you're curious.<em>


	27. Inappropriate Location- Samifer-Reader

**Summary: **One afternoon, you're finishing up your altar guild duties at your church when the devil quite literally walks through your doors.

Of course this isn't particularly alarming for you; you and Lucifer have been friends since you were fledglings. With the apocalypse looming, you assume that he has come to convince you to join him. As you talk to him about the difficult choice you must make between himself and your family, your newly formed human emotions begin to sway you. Being in a vessel is overwhelming, and the emotions that come out aren't exactly the ones you were expecting. Then again, you also didn't expect to fuck Lucifer on your church's altar either. How does the human saying go? Life is like a box of chocolates? You never know what you're gonna get.

**Warnings: **So many.

First off,** THIS FIC IS SO BLASPHEMOUS. **

I can't even warn you guys enough, really. Lucifer and the reader are mad at their dad and it comes out as vehement, explicit, anti-god talk. Then they fuck in a church.

Also, the dub-con warning is there, because there is talk of Sam not being in control of his own body. To what degree he is cognizant of what's happening is not discussed and completely up to the reader, but I wanted to warn for it.

Furthermore, there's human hating, and major abandonment issues where God is concerned. Also the reader winds up being mildly evil. Just go into this expecting a very dark fic.

You knew it wasn't him from the moment he walked through the door. Even if you had only been possessed of your vessel's limited human sight, you would have known that Sam Winchester was no longer in control of his own body. He held himself differently, gait deliberate and unyielding, eyes narrowed, chin thrust defiantly high. As it was, you also had the aid of your angelic vision, so you could see the billowing red of Lucifer's grace pouring out of Sam's vessel, trailing behind him in a dark cloud.

"Hello, Lucifer," you said evenly. You had been expecting him to come to you ever since the angels had finally let you descend to earth. You had been the last one. You got the feeling that they were reluctant to let you come down, but times were desperate. The younger Winchester had gone missing, and the angels were frantic to find him. They would be so pleased to hear Sam had finally said, "Yes."

"Hello, Y/N," he replied, still walking towards you slowly. You stayed where you were, just in front of the altar. Let him come to you for once.

There was a long pause filled only with the sound of Lucifer's footsteps on the intricate tile of the church floor. You broke first; you always did.

"Why are you here?" you asked, doing your best to sound harsh. You wished he hadn't sought you out. It hurt to look at him. You weren't ready to give him up yet.

"So unwelcoming, Y/N," Lucifer said in his deadly soft voice. "I thought that we were friends."

You blinked and looked away, conflicted. You _were_ friends. You had been for a long time. When you were both fledglings, you had played together all the time. You had been one of the few angels who liked Lucifer's independent spirit. And as Lucifer grew more and more rebellious, alienated more and more of his brothers and sisters, the two of you had only grown more entwined. Although you had pleaded with him not to disobey God, and had been unwilling to follow him down the dark path of corrupting humans, the two of you had managed to remain close, even as Lucifer was sealing his own fate. When Lucifer was eventually thrown into the cage, even then you found a way to visit him. You could not get into the cage with him, but you had managed to send an artifact in with him that allowed you to open up a window of sorts. As the angel who ferried souls from the reapers to hell, you had an excuse to be in hell frequently, and had been visiting him clandestinely for thousands of years.

Through lies of omission that you would have to beg forgiveness for in the end of days, you had managed to keep both Lucifer and your family close to you all this time. But now Michael and Lucifer were forcing your hand. You could no longer hold the middle ground. With Lucifer attempting to bring about the apocalypse, and the angels and demons rallying for the battle to end all battles, you had to pick a side. Not for the first time, you wondered where your Father was in all this. You wondered why he was letting this happen. For some reason, whenever you wondered things like this lately, you felt a clenching sensation in your stomach, and you felt hot all over. Some dim part of you knew that this was emotion, but you knew with even more certainty that it was an emotion that you were not supposed to feel, _especially _where God was concerned. So you shoved it down, and looked at what was presently before you. Your choice. Your friend or your family? Lucifer or Michael? You had no doubt that Lucifer was here to convince you to join with him.

"Of, course we're friends," you finally replied, more gently than you had intended.

You saw a slight smile press at the corners of Lucifer's mouth, as he continued to leisurely make his way up the aisle. "I have missed you."

"I've missed you too," your voice wasn't doing what you wanted it to do. Why did it sound so soft?

Lucifer smirked like he knew what you were thinking. "How is your first experience in a vessel going, Y/N?" he asked, trailing his fingertips over one of the wooden pews. "I know you were always curious what it would be like."

"It-it is," you paused, uncertain of how much you should give away, now. You didn't know if you were on opposite sides or not, and you had gotten so used to telling Lucifer everything. "Confusing," you finally admitted. "Overwhelming."

"Very interesting creatures, aren't they? So driven by emotion, and sensation." He lifted one side of his jacket and looked down at his own Sam's body. "I must confess, this one is particularly driven by passion." He looked up at you, slanted eyes glinting. "What is yours driven by, I wonder."

You sucked in a breath. Yours was driven by a great many things, sensation especially; the sound and smell and especially the feel of things was so omnipresent in this body, that you had begun to wonder if your vessel was more sensitive than most. Maybe that was partially you though, you had always been a perceptive angel, noticing many small things at once. Perhaps perceptiveness translated into sensitivity in a human body. Whatever it was, you didn't like it. It was very distracting. What was worse it came with _urges. _You desired human things that had never seemed appealing to you as an angel. You desired them so much that it was like a constant thrum, vibrating through your body and refusing to give you any rest. It was particularly uncomfortable right now, as you were quickly becoming aware of things about Lucifer that you'd never noticed before. His grace had always looked strong, and vivid to you, but never _attractive._ And you felt as though his vessel was calling to yours. You wanted to do odd things to it, to lick it, to grasp it, to suck on it. You wanted to join with it.

You only realized how long you'd been silent when you heard Lucifer laughing quietly. "It is quite an adjustment, isn't it?" You continued to look at him, feeling completely off kilter. Lucifer was just twenty feet away from you now. "I could help you," he offered raising his brows invitingly. "Teach you all the things they never trusted you to know in heaven."

"You're talking about sin," you replied, immediately catching his drift.

"That is what _they_ call it."

"It's what our _father _calls it."

"Are you sure? Have you spoken to him recently, Y/N?" There it was again, that clenching hotness. You had made your hands into fists before you'd even noticed what you were doing.

"There are _rules, _Lucifer."

"For them," he interjected, "For the apes. Not for us."

"But Michael said-"

"Is Michael your God now?" Lucifer asked, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"No," you replied quietly. "You know he's no-"

"Then why must you obey him?" While Lucifer's tone was still smooth, you could tell he was getting frustrated. He always started interrupting when he got frustrated.

"I must…" you trailed off. The only answer to that was because that was the way things were. You knew Lucifer wouldn't like that answer. Truth be told, _you _didn't like that answer. "Because that's the way it is," had always been a reason you hated. You paused, looking at Lucifer and thinking.

"Yes?" he prompted.

You broke down. There it was again. The choice. Michael or Lucifer. "I can't. I'm sorry, Lucifer, I can't," you said, panic welling up inside you at the idea that this might be the last time you got to see him. Or alternately, if you chose him, that the only time you would ever get to see your brothers and sisters again would be in battle. You weren't ready. You weren't ready for either of them to be gone.

Lucifer spoke in a calming voice, his face broadcasting gentle concern, "You don't have to choose me, not tonight, Y/N. I know how hard this must be for you." It was. It was so hard. Your brothers and sisters, or your best friend. Who could ever make a choice like that? Especially when you were like this. You felt the pull of true emotions growing stronger every day that you were in this body. And every angel knew that decisions made from a place of emotion were always folly. It was the wreckage of humanity that let their hearts rule them, not those created for a higher calling.

Lucifer was standing just a step below you now, still taller than you thanks to his large vessel. He reached up and cupped your face in his hand. You instinctively leaned into the touch. "I am sorry that you must make this choice. If I could have prevented it, I would have. I am not asking you to make a decision, Y/N. I'm just asking you to be with me. Share with me the one gift bestowed upon these broken creatures that will be unreachable to us when they are gone."

Yes. You were going to say yes. You were being flooded with a barrage of sensations that you no longer had any interest in fighting. Not when Lucifer was here. Not when the self-indulgent comfort of his touch was so close. You could not fight your heart and your body at the same time. And to give in to the body was less dangerous than to give in to the heart. You rose up on your toes, and kissed him.

Lucifer kissed you back, pulling your body towards his. Hot, hot, he was hot all over. His lips were like a decadent flame against yours. His tongue, hot and wet, and base human, was pressing against your lips. You opened your mouth to him, and let him push inside, needing more, more, more. Pressing and taking, and grasping, both of you were running on pure instinct, and need. You let out a wild sound against Lucifer's mouth. He pulled back and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist with a triumphant, "Yes." It was only when he started carrying you up the stairs towards the mensa of the altar that you remembered you were in a church. "Wait, wait!" you said as Lucifer set you down. At your words, he immediately pulled back, surveying you impassively. "We're in a church, Lucifer."

Lucifer looked around briefly before returning his gaze to you, "Are we? I hadn't noticed."

You suppressed a grin, having missed Lucifer's particular brand of humor. No, stop, this was serious. "This is _God's _house, Lucifer," you said as emphatically as you could manage, but your words sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

Lucifer was smiling slightly. "Could four walls hold the father you knew? Is he so small, Y/N?"

"No, of course not, but the humans-"

His smile dropped, "Exactly. The humans. The humans made and consecrated this place, not God. Not our father." He reached up to weave his hand in your hair. You couldn't help leaning into the touch.

"I-"

"I can take you somewhere else, if that is what you truly want," he interjected, looking at you seriously.

Was that what you really wanted? Why were you doing this? You looked around at all the religious imagery. All the time and effort these humans had put in for a God that had been gone before any of them had even been born. Before the parents, of their parents, of their parents… a hundred times over had been born. A God that had been gone for thousands of years. A God that had abandoned them. A God that had abandoned **you**_._ The stomach clenching, boiling hot feeling was back once more, and this time you had a name for it: rage. You felt anger sweep through you, rushing through your human veins with an intensity that you had never known as an angel. You'd lost control of both your body and your heart, and suddenly you wanted to wreck the place. You _hoped _this really was God's house. You _hoped _that He had consecrated it, not just the humans. You _hoped_ that he was here, that he saw this. Because you were going to fuck God's first lost lamb on every available surface, and then burn this godforsaken place to the ground. And you hoped that he would come back and smite you for it, because at least then he would be back. The unfairness of your whole situation suddenly struck you deep. Did you really miss your father so much, that having him return only to kill you would be a relief? What was wrong with you? Orphaned and abandoned, you were being forced to give up still more family. And your father was not coming to save you. This was the being that you were still loyal to? The being you professed to love above all else? Just like that, you knew whose side you were on. You were on the side that was going to let you _do something_ with this seething anger. You were on the side that was going to wreck the people and places that were dear to God. Because fuck him. He had put you in this horrific situation, and hell if you weren't going to take some of his creation down with you.

You looked back at him, eyes blazing. "No. That's not what I want."

Lucifer's smile was dark, "Then what do you want?"

"I want to hurt the father that left us," you replied recklessly. "I want you to desecrate this altar with me, along with every single pew in this church. And when we're done, I want you to burn it to the ground Because fuck our Father. _Fuck God_."You were trembling with thousands of years of repressed rage. It was pouring out of you in torrents. Thousands of years of repeating, "Don't feel it. Don't feel it. Don't feel it. Angels don't feel." until you believed the lie. You should have known there was a reason why you were the last angel allowed to take a vessel, why they had rebuffed your requests for years. You had started asking to go down to earth the moment that Castiel had been allowed, but although you were practically the only angel _volunteering _for mission after mission to earth, they had refused you without a word of explanation. This must have been why. The other angels had known more about your internal state than you had yourself. They must have known that putting you in human form was essentially turning you into a powder keg. The only thing they hadn't known was that you were best friends with the world's first flame, Lucifer.

Lucifer who was radiating pleasure. His grace was swirling up around him in gleeful swoops and swirls. "That's right," he replied, face tense with righteous anger. "Fuck God." Then he pushed his lips against yours, in a harsh imitation of a kiss. You bit his lip and growled into his mouth. Yeah. Let him show you all the pleasures of the flesh, all the things you were never meant to feel. You felt his hands on you. Smoothing up your back, grasping at your breasts, molding themselves around your hips. You moaned wantonly, and spread your legs wider, rolling your hips against his. You started pulling Lucifer's shirt up only to have him impatiently snap his fingers; suddenly you could feel his bare skin on yours. You pulled back in surprise, which simply cause Lucifer to latch his mouth onto your neck. You were both naked. _Oh fuck, that felt good._

"Ah, Lucifer!" you cried out. You ran your hands over his broad, muscled back. Even you had to admit, this body was a work of art.

Lucifer bit your neck with a, "Yesss. Feel it. Feel _all _of it."

Your breath hitched, as you felt wetness from your nether parts start to leak out of you and onto the altar linens. You weren't sure if your body was really that turned on, or if Lucifer was doing something again. You didn't really care. Everything felt hot, and good, and so _intense._ You wanted Lucifer to fuck you. You wanted to get your bodies as close to one another as possible. Lucifer drew back up and dove in for another kiss. His tongue felt scorching hot in your mouth. And oh god could _taste _him. Not, Sam, not the vessel, but _Lucifer._ You could taste him. It was sensory overload. Most angels, even in human vessels, never quite took to taste, never really liked it. It was too emotional, too irrationally hedonistic for any of them to puzzle out. Taste wasn't a thing that could be compartmentalized and neatly described like sounds, or visions, or even touches. So angels were left in this uncomfortable limbo where they could neither accurately describe, nor fully experience, tasting something. Most of them just tried to describe a thing's taste by its chemical compounds and did their best to neither think nor talk about it. You didn't ever want to _stop _talking about how Lucifer tasted right now. Tasting him was so intimate, it felt like you were somehow taking a part of his grace and putting it inside of yourself. You were mewling nonstop into his mouth, your angelic and human sides both swamped with lust. You reached down and grasped his cock in your hand. Lucifer growled lowly into your mouth. You guided him to your entrance, wanting nothing more than to have him inside of you. Once he was lined up, Lucifer sank in with one long thrust.

How did humans ever do anything other than this? What a waste of their time! This was amazing. Lucifer gripped your hips and pulled out only to push into you again. You broke away from the kiss to let out a loud moan. Lucifer grinned and pulled one hand away from your hips, to place it against the middle of your chest. You looked up at him with hazy eyes, as he continued to fuck himself into you. Lucifer looked completely clear headed, and absolutely lascivious. He pressed his palm flat between your breasts, and pushed you back against the altar. You sprawled out against the bright white linens, looking up at Lucifer. He ran his large palm over your breasts and down over your stomach, as your whole body bounced with the power of his thrusts. You whined and rolled your hips up. He felt so good inside you. You felt tingly from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You stretched your arms up over your head and arched, reacting instinctively to the feelings Lucifer was stirring inside you. Letting your lust move your body, you kept rolling your hips up against Lucifer's. He looked so good towering above you. His muscles working in perfect synchrony underneath his tan skin. His hair falling over his face like a glossy curtain in the low light. His the symmetrical angles of face slightly crooked from the concentration of fucking you.

Lucifer looked down at you, his hazel eyes alight. You whimpered and wriggled again. "Beautiful," he said, smoothing his hand up to your breasts again. He looked down to where the two of you were joined and then flashed his eyes up at you, smiling that barely there smile that he'd had from the moment he stepped in the church. "Do you think we've dirtied God's altar enough, Y/N? You think we've pushed it down in the mud with the pigs where it belongs?" You moaned and shook your head. You didn't know what more you wanted, but somehow you knew there was more. Lucifer leaned down, stretching his body over yours. You could still feel him pumping in and out of you. You felt so full, felt his thick heat pushing at your inner walls. You felt his hot breath against your ear as he whispered, "I want to commit the Empyreal Sin with you."

You started. That was something no angel had ever done. The Empyreal Sin was for two angels to have a child together. Angels were already so similar to God, archangels especially, that seeking to do the one thing that God said separated the two of them, creating life was seen as the ultimate blasphemy. The punishment was so terrible, that only the archangels knew it, though there were many rumors about what it was. Some said it was to be erased from of time, to have never existed. Some said that the offspring of two angels would created a monster that would swallow the whole universe. Some said that none of the archangels talked of it, because in truth, even _they _didn't know what would happen. Finally, some said that it was banned because that was actually how you _became _God. That if two angels had a child, by creating life they would bridge the last step that separated them from God, and so become Gods themselves. No angel had ever dared. So no one _knew_ for certain what the truth was, but you were certainly hoping for the last one.

"Do it," you replied viciously.

The corners of Lucifer's mouth briefly pressed down in a subdued smile, before his face turned intense. He stood back up, pushed his palm flat over your heart again, and he started fucking himself into you at a breakneck pace. You let out a hiccuping cry and tried to arch into the hand that was holding you still. Lucifer looked down at you, eyes blazing. He fucked you harshly, riding your body like he was going into battle. His skin shone bronze in the low light, set off against the red of his grace which was unfurling behind him. "You and I will be better Gods than our father _ever _was," he snarled, letting his anger, and pride finally shine through unfiltered.

You loved it.

"Yes! Yes, Lucifer! Together," you cried out. Lucifer kept thrusting inside you, hitting some spot inside your vessel that kept making you see white, while Lucifer's angelic grace started to merge with yours. You could feel the edges of his crimson grace flowing and rippling, pushing into your bright blue light. It felt like the sealing of a contract, the binding of two halves. You called out Lucifer's name over and over, your thrashing halted only by his firm hand between your breasts. You wanted something. You wanted, you wanted, you _needed._ You felt yourself reaching for it. You knew you were reaching for the human completion of the sex act, but you had no idea what it would feel like. You spread your legs wider, desperate to somehow take Lucifer deeper, get him closer. You wanted more of his grace, more of his body, more of his everything. You didn't want these rough, unnatural boundaries where he ended and you began. Understanding, Lucifer leaned down, and plastered his body against yours, all of his skin against your skin. The sensory overload combined with the spiritual overload of a fresh wave of Lucifer's grace surging into yours sent you over the edge.

You came.

You arched up with a scream of Lucifer's name, your blue grace turning royal purple as Lucifer's red essence poured into you. Lucifer fucked himself sharply into you just a few more times, and then came as well with a roar of your name. You saw his brilliant crimson grace turning the same deep purple, as your blue grace seeped into his. You felt his come shoot deep inside you, as you rode out the waves of your angelic and human orgasm. You didn't know how long you and Lucifer laid there entangled in one another, the sharp edges of your mutual orgasms still pulsing through you, but when Lucifer finally did pull away, you immediately knew that you were with child.

Lucifer stood upright before you, statuesque, and radiant. He held his hand out to you, "My queen," he said solemnly. You took his hand and slid off the altar to stand beside him. You stood nude and glorious next to one another, the now identical royal purple of your graces swirling like thick smoke around your feet.

"No, Lucifer, my God," you corrected.

"My God," he agreed. And hand in hand you walked from the church, setting it ablaze behind you, preparing to do the same to the whole world.


	28. Gags- Archangels-Reader

**Summary: **Sometimes the world is a funny place. Odd things happen with seemingly no explanation all the time. Things like Roswell, things like black holes, things like magnets...things like four archangels falling for you at once. Odd or not all these things occur. What can one do but roll with it? And so you do, striking up a relationship with Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer and Raphael, the firstborn of God's creation.

Being with four archangels is more sexual than you could ever have anticipated. Not that you're complaining. Not when all of them make love to you in such individually spectacular ways. Not when the idea of the four of them taking you at the same time is brought up. Not when the idea comes to fruition, and you have four oversexed archangels pushing into you at once.

The world is strange indeed.

**Warnings: **Anal sex, triple penetration

If you ever wanted proof that God had a sense of humor, all you needed to know was that he'd made all four of his firstborn sons fall in love with a human. The same human. At the same time.

"_Made_" is perhaps a strong word (there supposedly being free will and all), but somehow or another, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel, all wound up falling for your mortal ass simultaneously. Upon Gabriel's insistence, they'd all come to you at the same time and presented the situation. You could choose to be with one of them, two of them, three of them, or all four of them, whatever you desired (although Gabriel did strongly advise against the three option.) You had of course chosen to be with all four of them, and wound up in a polyamorous relationship, which required so much negotiation that at times you felt like a UN ambassador. Just because they loved you, didn't mean they didn't still fight with one another like cats and dogs. The whole thing was a very complex situation, really. Supposedly the relationship dynamic the five of you had going was not _terribly _uncommon in heaven; the four of them kept referring to your relationship as a "nest," and had tried multiple times to explain it to you, but it was like unpacking a set of Russian dolls. To understand "nesting" you had to understand wing oil effects and etiquette; to understand that you had to understand how wings functioned on a non-terrestrial plane; to understand that you had to understand how the human phrases that the angels used so often to describe heaven were really just analogies and approximations; and to understand _that…_ And so it went, spiraling deeper and deeper into confusion. The five of you were still working on it, because you wanted to know, despite the fact that you felt as though you were further from understanding than you had been when you started. Although you did at least grasp that the multi person part of your relationship was not new territory for any of them. Apparently, for them, what was actuallyunusual was the fact that all four of them were_arch_angels. It seemed only Michael and Lucifer had ever attempted to share a lover before, and it had been disastrous.

In sum, navigating the ins and outs of your multi-angel relationship had been difficult to say the least. When your relationship had first started, you had tried interacting with them romantically, and sexually in isolation. You and Lucifer on Mondays. You and Gabriel on Tuesdays. You and Michael on Wednesdays. You and Raphael on Thursdays. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all together, but with the romance and sexuality significantly toned down. The romantic part of that set up had worked out fine, the sexual one…not so much. Whenever you had sex with any of them one on one, they spent half their time seeking reassurance that they were the best lover out of the four.

"Yes, Y/N. Yes, cry out for me. Does your body sing like this for my brothers?" Raphael would gloat, thrusting inside you.

"Yeah, baby. Damn you taste so good, bet my ego amigos don't eat you out like this," Gabriel would say, waggling his eyebrows.

"You come beautifully, Y/N. Tell me, do my brothers show you the same consideration?" Lucifer would purr, tracing patterns into your skin.

"You are my father's best creation, Y/N. You deserve to be told this everyday. Although I expect my boorish siblings neglect to do so," Michael would murmur, holding you close.

It drove you crazy. You loved all of them. _Of course_, you loved all of them. The last thing you wanted was for them to use you as a pawn in their prideful pissing matches. So eventually you had come up with the idea of the four of you sleeping together at once. If they were all together in the same room, surely they would't ask you to choose who was the best right in front of one another. Right? _Right?_ Wrong. So, so, so wrong. The sex became competitive. Who could make you come the most? Who could make you come the longest? Who could make you cry their name the loudest? And they would egg each other on, trash talking all the way through.

"Louder, Y/N. C'mon sugar, I've heard you do better than that," Gabriel said with a smile, in between licks.

"Gabriel, you know it doesn't count if you _ask _her to scream," Lucifer asserted, idly trailing his fingertips over your arm.

"You bet your shiny white ass it does," Gabe sounded offended, and licked you quicker, his golden eyes blazing up at you.

"Gabriel, be silent and finish your inferior devotion to Y/N," Raphael drawled, stroking himself.

"Do not be impatient, Raphael, Y/N will reach completion soon. I can see it on her face," Michael replied stroking your face and kissing you softly. "Gabriel's subpar work is sufficient due to Y/N's breathtaking sensitivity."

Out of sight, Gabriel's wings flicked in irritation.

Every time. Every time you were intimate with them, they couldn't seem to help but snipe at one another. Which brought you to your next idea. Gags. If they couldn't talk to one another, maybe things wouldn't escalate. This was the first idea that had worked. Their mouths bound by invisible, grace gags, the four archangels could no longer badger one another when they were with you. They could speak to you in your mind, but couldn't hear one another. The competitiveness was still there, but it was heavily toned down, especially once you let them know how much you disliked it. In truth, they seemed to dislike the trash talking as well, it was simply an ingrained habit that none of them knew how to stop indulging in. Once they were all gagged, you noticed that the four of them were far more relaxed. They took their time, and didn't interfere with one another as much. Sure Michael would still elbow Lucifer out of the way every now and then. Raphael and Michael would occasionally have silent fights about who got to join with you next. And all three of the angels periodically got annoyed with how tough it could be to get Gabriel to stop eating you out. (You swore sometimes that if the other three weren't there he would literally have his face in your pussy 24/7.)

Once the gags were on, they even started to involve one another in their own love making. Rather than it feeling like you were having sex with each of them separately while the remaining three just so happened to be touching you, they started to gain a certain amount of synergy. Raphael would hold you up so that Lucifer could have you while standing. Michael would combine graces with Gabriel to make your whole body light up from the inside out. They started to take you at the same time. Lucifer running himself over your lips, while Raphael fucked you hard. Gabriel filling up your back entrance, and nibbling at your neck, while Michael fed himself into your tight pussy slowly. Raphael with his hands woven through your hair, thrusting deliberately into your mouth, while Michael moved in and out of your ass with agonizing slowness. There were twenty four different ways they could match up, (you had counted) and you had done every single sensational one. Tonight was going to be the first time that they were all going to try being in you at once.

The night started out as it typically did, with Michael greeting you with a long slow kiss, and a quick "I love you," snuck in. Then with a flick of his wrist, the gags were on. You could hear the greetings of Lucifer, Gabriel, and Raphael inside your head, while Lucifer pressed himself up against your back and started undressing you. He sucked a hickey into the side of your neck while Gabriel sucked your finger into his mouth. Michael felt hot and hard against your front as your shirt was removed. His vessel was like granite, just as immovable as the angel residing inside it. Your soft breasts pressed against the flat planes of his chest, as you kissed Michael passionately, grasping his short, black hair with your free hand. Michael's tongue was hot in your mouth, taking your breath away with every swipe; Lucifer was plastered to your back, his hands everywhere, while Gabriel's mouth was doing sinful things to your fingers, promising darkly of things to come.

After a time, Michael, reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away from you and replaced by Raphael, who wove his fingers into your hair and pulled you tight against him for a passionate kiss. Raphael was the roughest of the group, always taking you as though it was his god given right. Meanwhile Gabriel pressed a gentling kiss to your palm as Raphael got to work on your pants. Slowly you felt Gabriel's grace start to push at you teasingly over top of your panties. You knew it was Gabriel, he was always the most egregious abuser of his powers, Lucifer, of course, being a close second. But while Lucifer used his powers to tease, Gabriel used them to please. Raphael was still tugging down your panties when you felt yourself start to get tingly down there. Gabriel was pushing hard to claim your first orgasm of the night solely for himself. That went out the window when Raphael got on his knees slowly, barely restrained power radiating off of him, while he looked up at you and slipped your panties the rest of the way off your body. You moaned, and leaned back against Lucifer, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight. That was when Raphael, with no outward show of force, magicked every single scrap of his damn clothes off. My god he was gorgeous. Smooth, dark skin, running sinuously over strong muscles. He knelt before you, dark, tilted, eyes gleaming up at you, keeping you pinned under his gaze as he unhurriedly smoothed a large hand up your leg and draped it over his shoulder. Oh! Raphael wasn't usually the one who did this for you. It wasn't that he disliked oral sex, it was just that the others liked it so much that he usually ceded to them. You wriggled your a little, until Raphael placed both palms flat against your hips and a slow, deep, "Still," echoed through your head.

You whimpered, but did as he asked. He should never take for granted how difficult that was though, with Michael now sucking at one breast while Lucifer palmed the other. When you looked down now you saw the top of Michael's inky black head as he sucked you, and Lucifer's hand playing with your breast; the sight was almost too erotic to look at directly. Instead you turned your attention to Gabriel. Gabriel, who was littering kisses along your arm, while he continued to push his grace against your now uncovered clit like a miniature vibrator. When he noticed you looking down at him, he flicked his golden eyes up to yours, and shot you a grin as he briefly amped up the vibrations on your clit. You whimpered, but it had nothing on the next moment when Raphael placed a long lick to your pussy, the wet heat of his tongue overlaying the brighter feel of Gabriel's grace. With great effort you kept your hips still, but your head dropped back against Lucifer's shoulder. "That's it," Lucifer said, inside your head, "Come on there pet, you've got this. Stay still, this is easy." Michael and Gabriel's low level, unconscious praise of the noises you were making layered over Lucifer's teasing. It was _not _easy. He was a fucking _liar_. You groaned loudly as Michael tugged your nipple between his teeth. Oh god. Raphael was still licking you steadily, causing the arousal to build within you like an inevitable tide.

Hips still. Hips still. Hips _still._

It was so hard not to just ride his face. Gabriel's stimulation was a little more erratic. He kept bumping up the vibrations at random intervals, until you were clutching for his hand and crying out his name. You cried out Raphael's soon after, arching, no longer able to keep your body completely immobile. You bucked against his mouth, doing your best to at least keep your movements shallow. But Raphael laid his hands against your hips again and in that same deadly calm voice intoned, "Still," at the same time as Michael did. You whimpered, and moaned out loud, "But pleeeaassee."

Gabriel uttered a low curse at your begging and amped up the vibrations again. He always liked seeing you come too much to make you wait for very long once you started begging. But then you felt something interfering with his grace, snatching your orgasm just out of your fingertips.

"_Y/N_, I _know_ you're not trying to disobey a direct order that I suspect both of my brothers just gave you. I _know _you're not that naughty."

You groaned in frustration, resisting the urge to wriggle in protest.

"Come on, be a good girl for us, Y/N," he continued teasingly.

You whimpered. He squeezed your breast, and nipped your neck. "Settle," he warned.

You bit your lip and huffed out a breath. You had invariably learned that obeying meant that you got to come quicker. So you did your best. Gabriel had now taken to running his hands along your sides. So you took your freed hands and thrust them into Lucifer and Michael's hair. You yanked at Lucifer's blonde hair, frustrated at him for interfering with Gabriel's attempt to give you a quick orgasm. Lucifer just laughed. Michael on the other hand you massaged lovingly. The way he was sucking at your nipple felt amazing. Everything felt amazing. You felt yourself, drift and sink under the weight of so much sensation. At a certain point it no longer became possible to catalogue it all. Whose mouth was that? Whose hand? Whose body pressed against you? At some point it all just devolved into one big mass of heat and pleasure. And _still_ Raphael wanted you to keep your hips motionless. Whenever you slipped up, he would reset them with gentle pressure of his hands, and a bass "Still," would run through your head.

You were calling out all of their names with greater frequency now, clutching Lucifer and Michael to you like life supports. Just as you felt yourself start reaching for that edge again, you heard a new instruction ring through your head in Raphael's distinctively deep voice.

"Look."

With great effort you wrested your head from Lucifer's shoulder and looked down. The first thing you saw was Michael's dark head still sucking at your breast tenderly. You stopped briefly to card your fingers lovingly through his hair. Michael looked up at you, his light eyes gentle, and then stepped back. You now had a clear view of what was going on between your legs. Raphael somehow simultaneously looked every inch the angel that he was, and like the most debauched person you'd ever seen. His eyes burned up at you as you watched his tongue disappear and reappear from between your folds. It was the last straw. Your whole body seized up. Feeling as though you had a current running through you, you pushed down against Raphael and back against Lucifer. Oh god! You felt as though the bottom of your stomach dropped out, like you were on a roller coaster, as you fell headlong into orgasm. You called out Raphael's name over and over, feeling yourself clench around Lucifer's grace which at some point had inserted itself into you. Shivers wracked your body as you came all over Raphael's tongue. You felt sharp pleasure center in your cunt, and radiate out through every inch of your over stimulated body. You dimly heard a series of curses and praises run through your head as the archangels watched your orgasm, enraptured.

Bit by bit you came back to yourself and sagged against Lucifer bonelessly. The sensation eased up slightly as all the kissing and mouthing, became soothing hands running all over your body. You looked down to find Raphael unhooking you leg from his shoulder and uncoiling himself, somehow still looking supremely dignified with his chin wet from eating you out. He stepped back, eyeing you intently until Gabriel blocked him from view. Gabriel took your face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss you.

"Hey, sugar, those were some fireworks," you heard echo through your head. You hmmed against Gabriel's mouth. After a long, soothing make out session, Gabriel pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, "Ready to get this party of five started?" You sagged against him, hot all over with the idea of being filled with the four of them and nodded. Taking that as his obvious cue, Gabriel hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carried you to the bed. He laid you out in the center of it and stepped back.

"Get on your knees, Y/N," Michael said seriously. Michael always sounded serious.

A little confused as to why no one was on the bed with you, you nonetheless obeyed. Up on all fours, eons past being embarrassed in front of your angels, you spread your legs wider and arched your back when instructed. "We need to prepare you, Y/N." You shuddered. You loved it when they prepared you. Finally, you felt someone getting on the bed with you. You looked to your left and saw that it was Michael. But he wasn't headed for your lower half, wasn't even looking at it. He was looking at your mouth. And he was holding a ball gag in his hand. You moaned, causing him to smile slightly.

"Yes, Lucifer thought you might enjoy this. Would you like to join us in being gagged for a brief time?" Michael asked, his voice still internal.

You nodded enthusiastically, opening your mouth even before he reached you. You heard affectionate laughter from more than one angel in your head. Winged patronizers, the lot of them, you grumbled. It was a good thing you loved them. But you didn't have long to ponder the pitfalls of being involved with a bunch of holier-than-thou archangels, because moments later Michael was slipping the rubber ball gag into your mouth. His sure hands pushed it inside, stretching your jaw wide, and quickly did up the buckle in the back. You whined around it immediately, shifting your hips. It felt so wrong, being gagged by a bunch of angels so they could add a new level to playing with you before they fucked you. So wrong it was right. So wrong it was the hottest you'd ever felt in your life. In case that wasn't enough, Michael delivered a swift spank to your wiggling bottom as he retreated from the bed. "Don't let that drop, Y/N. I want to see your ass in the air."

You made a choked off sound behind the gag. Man, you were going to have to explore that kink later, because the image of being spread over a righteously angry Michael's lap while he spanked you sent a frisson of heat through you so strong that it nearly dropped you to the bed. You steadied yourself, the addition of a ball gag was certainly enough to keep you occupied, for now. It made you so aware of your mouth, and the sounds you were making. Also, even though you were in no way bound, it certainly made you feel subservient to your angels, like for just a moment, you were nothing more than their mortal plaything. You wanted their hands on you, but none were forthcoming. For some reason they were all still just standing or sitting around the room. Then you felt it, the first press of someone's grace against your skin. Oh. _Oh._ You felt where it was, playing with the sensitive rim of your ass. You groaned and wiggled your hips; you got it now. You felt the grace (Michael's you now recognized) starting to push inside you. It felt slick and warm, and surprisingly tangible. About the width of a finger, Michael's grace pumped in and out of you, getting you prepared to take one of their cocks. When you felt ready for more, instead of Michael's grace growing wider, you felt an entirely new grace started to stroke the area around your puckered hole. Raphael. You let out a high pitch whine, which was largely dampened by the ball gag in your mouth. They were going to open you _together_. God, that was hot. Raphael's grace pushed in alongside Michael's. Your hole spasmed around the intrusion, but then gradually relaxed as Michael and Raphael steadily thrust inside you. Soon you were pushing back, wanting more.

"_Greedy,_" you heard an amused voice say. And then Lucifer's grace was pressing at your hole as well. You let out a strangled squeal, spreading your legs wider. You tried to beg, saying "Want it," and "Please," around the gag, but it came out all garbled. "Sorry, what was that?" Lucifer taunted, still not pressing his grace all the way in. You wagged your hips in invitation. "Oh, I see," he replied, pretending to suddenly understand, and pushing his grace inside you. You loved being stretched like this. The slick, slightly, burning, too hot, too sharp feel, of having them open you up. You could never get enough of it.

"Incoming," a voice called out in your head, as Gabriel's grace pressed its way inside you. You let out your loudest moan yet. All four of them. All four of them had their graces inside you, all pumping at different intervals, so that the sensation was complex and devastating. It was taking all you had to keep yourself on all fours as Michael had instructed. A constant, distorted stream of their long ass names was pouring out of your mouth as you writhed on the bed. You wanted to come again, you wanted to come so badly. No. No, scratch that. You wanted them. You wanted them inside you. In every single hole, filling you up and taking you over. You were so gone thinking about how they felt inside you, that you didn't even feel the bed dip as Lucifer finally got on with you. You squeaked, completely surprised when he grabbed you around the waist and flipped you onto your back on top of him.

He was completely naked beneath you, and it felt _so-damn-good. _It wasn't until you felt him rumble with laughter beneath you that you realized you'd said those last three words aloud. The gag was gone! Making good use of your returned voice, you immediately started begging. "Pleeeaaaase, Lucifer. Please!"

You heard him shushing you in your head as all the angels pulled their graces out of your ass, leaving room for Lucifer to push inside you easily. Mmmm. You pressed back against him, wanting him somehow deeper inside you. He bounced you on his lap a couple times before you saw Raphael making his way over. His gaze raked over your body, and no matter how comfortable you were with your angels, you had to blush when Lucifer reached down and grasped the backs of your legs, pulling them up and open to spread you wide.

You heard a cavalcade of cursing inside your head and closed your eyes, awash in the glow of their lust. Raphael grasped his cock and settled himself on the bed between Lucifer's knees. Kneeling over you he ran his cock along your center a few times, letting you anticipate what it was going to feel like, and then pushed inside you as though your joining was a universal constant. Your breath hitched when he bottomed out. So full. You felt so _full _with both Lucifer and Raphael inside you at the same time…and you were only halfway there. You still had Michael and Gabriel to go. But for a moment you let yourself be content with just two of your angels, the heat of their bodies surrounding you. Raphael and Lucifer moved in tandem, constantly keeping you full, letting you luxuriate in the feeling of being fucked. Your hands roamed over their bodies, grasping whatever you could reach, trying to get your fill of them, to feel satisfied, and failing each time. The closest you came was when Lucifer simply held your hand. His steady fingers enveloping yours was grounding in a way that all of your desperate pulling had not been. It allowed you to concentrate solely on the feelings between your legs. The pleasure from Rapahel's cock was bone deep and familiar. The pleasure from Lucifer felt raw and low, centered in the pit of your stomach. The two of them together were somehow more than the sum of their parts, and the only explanation you currently had for why you weren't coming your brains out with the amount of pleasure you were feeling was that Lucifer must be blocking you.

Eventually you felt the bed dip again; you looked over to see Gabriel. Angel magic had never been more convenient than when Gabriel made himself his own little hole in the bed so that he could kneel next to you and still have his cock at the level of your mouth.

"Open wide, buttercup," you heard him sing song in your head.

You looked up at him and obediently opened your mouth. He pushed his cock inside the wet heat of your mouth and began to thrust shallowly. You started to suck, feeling pulled even deeper under the barrage of sensation when taste got added to the list of senses being bombarded. You heard him groaning in your head, (ah, Gabriel ever the mouthy one, in all senses of the word) and added sound to the list.

Moving in sync you heard Gabriel, Raphael, and Lucifer all spilling praises, curses, and sounds into your head. On top of their cocks there were their hands, and their mouths, and their bodies, absolutely flooding you with the carnal beauty of it all. Your chest was heaving, pushing up into Raphael's desperate for a deep breath to help you steady yourself again. But you couldn't find your footing no matter how hard you tried. The moment you overcame the feel of Raphael and Lucifer enough to drag your head above water you were viscerally taken under again by the salty taste of Gabriel in your mouth. Full, stiff, and heavy on your tongue, sucking him was simultaneously comforting and wildly erotic. And then when you pulled yourself back from that brink, you were reminded of Lucifer, of how full he felt inside you, the way the sweat slick skin of his vessel felt against yours, all of those firm muscles cushioning you as Raphael pushed you on to him. And then there was Raphael, fucking you harder than any of them based on the privilege of his current position. He was fucking you so well that even if your mouth hadn't been filled with Gabriel you doubted that he would have been able to speak. His skin was dry, and so hot it was almost scorching against yours, as he gripped your hips and fucked you down onto Lucifer.

Your head was spinning. It was a testament to how much you were out of it that you had completely forgotten Michael. When he spoke in your mind, you started, and almost choked yourself on Gabriel.

"Are you ready, Y/N?"

Yes. You didn't care for what. You were ready. You wanted all of them at once. Lucifer had called you greedy, and he hadn't been wrong. Without another word from Michael, you felt your whole body start to suffuse with warmth. You had felt some version of this previously, but never to this degree. Michael was joining his grace with your soul. Your angels had only ever joined their graces with your body, never your soul. For something so transcendent, it also felt strangely physical. Perhaps it was because he had to pass through your body to get to your soul. For what ever the reason, Michael's spiritual version of joining with you only served to enhance the more earthly ways that all of his brothers were coupling with you. You felt as though you were both outside and inside of yourself. Observer and participant. Every single angel felt like an extension of your own body. All connected, their pleasure was your pleasure and vice versa. You knew them. Their faults and their virtues, their highs and their lows. You knew about the time that Gabriel dipped Lucifer's wings in leviathan goop and they'd turned black at the tips for a terrestrial year. You knew about the blow out fights Michael and Lucifer had had even before God left. You knew the gut deep ache at his father's absence that Raphael tried so hard to hide behind duty and power. You knew how much more playful Michael used to be, playing hide and go seek around heaven with a giggling toddler version of Gabriel. You knew all the lies Lucifer had told despite fashioning himself as a consummate bearer of truth. You knew how Raphael and Lucifer used to spend hours talking to their father about the world, and what it would be like once it was finished. Once you knew, it felt as though you had always known. As though these memories had always been a part of you. You couldn't seem to remember life without them.

A particularly strong thrust from Raphael brought you back to the sheer physicality of the moment. Awash with knowledge both carnal and spiritual, you felt yourself nearing your end. Of the five of you however, Michael was the first to release. You didn't know what to call it other than release; it was though you felt an ecstatic bursting just inside your ribcage. The heat that had suffused itself throughout your body when Michael first joined with you tingled, and grew more intense. You could feel Michael in every part of you, your palms and your fingers, your breasts and your heart, your hips and your navel, your head, and your legs, and your feet… there wasn't a single part of you that he didn't occupy. Trying to catalogue all the places you felt him was like the oddest game of "head, shoulders, knees, and toes," that you'd ever played. You were so swept up in Michael that you didn't hear the tell tale signs that Lucifer was making behind you, so it wasn't until he fucked up into you one last time and came that you were even aware that he had been close. Gabriel followed soon after, flooding your mouth with his oddly sweet come. You swallowed glad to finally have full reign of your voice again. You cried out all of their names in a constant desperate stream._raphaelLuciferGabrielMichaelLuciferRaphaelMichaelGabriel_ With Raphael still the only one inside you, fucking you like he was on a mission from God, you felt all four of their graces press themselves against your clit. That was all she wrote. You arched up with a glass shattering caterwaul and came. Raphael groaned above you and pumped you full of come. You felt as though you were soaring, high on your own endorphins. The peak of your pleasure went on and on, sucking you under and pulling you up in waves over and over, so many times that it couldn't have been just one orgasm. Until all at once, your muscles went lax, and the extreme pleasure of your orgasm left you. A sated warmth swept over you instead, and you became aware of your angels cleaning their sticky come off you. Once you were clean, they turned you on your side so they could all cuddle up to you. You felt their warmth all around you, and still awash with your post-coital glow, you drifted into a dreamless sleep, only to be woken in the morning with your legs splayed wide over Michael and Lucifer with a randy Gabriel already eating you out. All the fighting, all the negotiating, everything was all worth it, if you could just wake up to this every morning of your life. You reached down, threaded your fingers through Gabriel's tawny hair, and flew.


	29. Shower Sex- Anna-Reader

**Summary: **Anna Milton was your girlfriend for two years before the voices took her away from you.

Years later she shows up at your door, telling you that everything she heard was true. Angels are real, and they might be coming after you. One quick series of protection sigils later she leaves again.

A few months after that, she comes back, for the last time. She shows up naked in your shower in the middle of the night, and your first thought is that come hell or high water you're going to convince her to stay. Because whatever crusade she's trying to run off on, it doesn't have to be her. Not your Anna.

**Warnings: **talk of Anna being committed to the mental hospital, angst, and smut

You stood there stock still, frozen despite the heat, staring.

Your angel of the lord ex-girlfriend was in your shower moaning like she was coming with water sluicing over her the pale curves of her body at three in the goddamn morning. All of this despite the fact that she was supposed to be dead.

"Anna," you whispered.

She opened her eyes, and regarded you slowly. She smiled. Why was she smiling? The last time you'd seen her, she'd been urgent, terrified, and certain she was going to her death. The last time you'd seen her you'd had your entire world flipped upside down: learned angels were real, gotten some fancy new tattoos on your ribs, the whole nine yards.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," she said softly, tilting her head slightly.

You took a step back, unable to stop looking at her face. Tension wove itself through every inch of your body. Finally you were able to choke out, "Why are you here?"

Her brows drew up earnestly, "I missed you, Y/N."

"No, I mean why aren't you…the last time I saw you, you thought, you thought…" you trailed off, eyes slipping down her body reflexively. You didn't want to say dead.

"I thought I was going to die," she supplied for you, calmly. Why was she so calm? Why was she still naked? It was making it really, _really _hard to ask those important questions you knew you needed to ask. You missed her. She finally stepped out of the glass walled shower, dripping wet, and looking like Aphrodite born again. You were certain that you made some undignified, needy sound in the back of your throat. She (thankfully) wrapped herself in a white fluffy towel, and leaned against your counter, clearly ready to do some explaining. "The last time I saw you," she started, still looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. "I was still mostly human." You nodded. You remembered this. The last time Anna had showed up at your door in the middle of the night, it had been with two hulking dudes, and a royally bitchy little brunette. It had been the scariest night of your life. She was there to tell you that not only were angels real, but that she was both one of them, _and_ had them out for her blood.

You hadn't been too willing to believe at first. Anna had been your girlfriend for two years during undergrad, until her illness had taken her from you. When Anna had started hearing things, had started seeing things, it had been alarming to say the least. When she had been taken to the doctor's diagnosed with Schizophrenia and committed, it had been the saddest day of your life. She had broken up with you over the phone the same day she found out. She didn't want you to see her like that, in scrubs, small and lonely in a white walled room. She wouldn't let you help her. You'd been heartbroken; you had been certain you were going to marry that girl. But Anna had been adamant in pushing you away, and after a time, you had to admit there was nothing you could do. So you'd spent a year and a half moping from well meaning set up to well meaning set up, until your friends finally understood that you needed time to grieve your loss of a girl they now called Crazy instead of Anna.

A year and a half later she had showed up at your door. Like you said, you hadn't exactly been primed for belief when Anna had started insisting that angels were real. Ruby had been more than willing to supply you with physical proof when she decided this whole words thing was taking too damn long. Try dangling from the ceiling while a black eyed five-two girl holds you up there without any _visible_ means, tell me there's anybody who wouldn't believe in angels and demons after that. When Ruby had put a far more open minded you back on the ground, Anna had explained her whole sordid tale at a rapid fire pace that gave you the impression that the four of them were under some kind of deadline. Then she'd told you the reason she had insisted on coming, at this point she had turned to glare at the three people behind you. Apparently she feared the angels might use you as leverage to get to her. She was here to make it harder for them to find you. She had used what unreliable "angel powers" she had to burn a series of "sigils" onto your ribs. She had then told you to take a vacation somewhere unexpected for the next week. Go in a car, use only cash, check in with fake names, the boys behind her had instructed you. A week she said. This would be over in a week. You had wanted to know if she would be coming back after that week was up. You hadn't been able to stop your heart from leaping into your throat at the idea that maybe the silver lining in all this was that you could get Anna back. Anna's sad smile would have been enough of an answer, but if you'd had any doubts that all Anna expected from this encounter was death, Ruby's snort and sarcastic comment had obliterated them. And then they had gone. Without so much as a kiss, or a hug, or a "love you," Anna was gone from your life again.

But now she was back. And you felt that same stupid hope fluttering in your chest.

"I'm not human anymore," she continued. "I'm an angel again."

You blinked at her, "But you-"

"I look the same, I know," she took a step towards you. "I don't feel the same, but," she took another step. "I still miss you."

"I miss you too, Anna." You swallowed, "Are you- are you coming back this time?" you hated how pathetic you sounded.

Anna's eyes turned sad. "I can't. Not for long. I'm-"

"You're dying again."

Anna paused in her slow forward advance, and nodded.

You felt tears prick your eyes, "God, Anna. Why do you only come back when you're dying? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

She looked ashamed, and you hated that your first overwhelming instinct was to gather her in your arms. "It's the only time I can justify being so selfish," she looked up at you and flashed you a small smile, "You're my ultimate temptation. When you see me….I'm giving in."

You barked out a laugh. Yeah, she sounded like an angel alright. You were a sin. The love of her life, her _human _life, and you were nothing but a sin. "If that's all I am, Anna, you can go." It felt like you were stabbing yourself with a knife. "If I'm just some extra piece of chocolate cake you shouldn't have, I don't want to see you again." You had to cut her out, had to do it. You had to move on. "Because I used to be a hell of a lot more than that."

"I know," she interjected lightly. She quickly crossed the last few steps separating you, and cupped her hand around your face. "I know," she insisted. "You are. You were so much more than that. You were everything to me."

You didn't miss her use of past tense. You scoffed, "Can angels even feel? Can you even-"

"Yes," she interrupted again. "Yes, I can. It's," she looked away, "It's different. But I can still love you."

"If you could then you wouldn't be here."

"I'm here _because _I love you," she insisted. "I hear you, every night. Crying for me. How much you miss me. I hear you, Y/N."

Wait, what? "You can-"

"It counts as prayer. Whenever you use my name, it counts as prayer. I'm an angel, Y/N, we're built to hear your prayers."

Oh. You relived all the times you'd cried out for Anna over the past few months. It had been a lot. It had been a lot of things you'd rather she hadn't heard.

"I wanted to come to you, every time. Believe me, it tore me apart not to come to you. But it's dangerous, Y/N. It's so very dangerous," you saw her face settle into something determined that had nothing to do with you, "And I have work to do."

"What w-"

"Important things. There are bad things happening out there, Y/N, very bad things. And I have to stop them, I have to stop _all _of them from ruining our father's creation," a zealous light stole into Anna's eyes. You didn't like it.

"Why, Anna? Why does it have to be you?" Anna tried to interrupt again, but you pressed on. "You could stay. You could stay with me, and just _live_. You could have that life, that _human _life you always wanted. The one you said you cut your grace out for. The one we always talked about." She was still trying to interrupt, but you were saying this. "We could get married, Anna, adopt some kids. I'll make them the pancakes with faces, the ones you always liked. You can dance around the house to crappy classical music, and I'll kiss you until you turn it off. We can introduce the kids to old Doctor Who and cuddle on the couch, you can put your feet under me when they get cold. We can get old, and take Centrum Silver and still love each other when we're in walkers. You can have that life, Anna. _We _can have that life," you reached down and took her hand in yours.

"I can't get old anymore, Y/N," was all she replied.

You carried on, determined. "I don't care. I don't care at all. Just stay. I don't know what they are, but you don't have to be the one to stop the bad things from happening. There have to be other options, there have to be. It doesn't have to be you, Anna. Please, don't let it be you."

Anna shook her head, eyes wet, "There's no one else."

"Anna-"

"There's no one else who can do what I'm going to do, Y/N," she insisted more firmly. She looked into your eyes, a resolute set to her lips that you knew from past fights meant that there was no budging her. "I can't stay."

"Then why are you here?" you asked brokenly, all the wind gone from your sails.

"Because I love you."

You felt a tug in your stomach. She wanted one night. She was asking for one night, when she knew she couldn't give you more. You were going to say yes. You were going to say yes because you loved her, and you missed her, and she looked so stupidly hot in that white towel. You wove your free hand into her hair and kissed her. Anna sighed and pressed back into the kiss. You backed her up against the counter, pouring all of your raw, very human emotions into the act. She opened her mouth and swiped her tongue along the seam of your mouth. You shivered and opened your mouth, clutching her to you harder. She didn't taste the same. You didn't know what was different. She felt the same, she looked the same, but she didn't taste the same. You kept on kissing her, holding a little too tight, pressing a little to hard, as though if you let go, even for a second, she would fly away. You felt more than heard Anna moaning into your mouth. You wanted to hear her.

You pulled away from her mouth and started sucking the skin along her jaw, knowing that had always been a soft spot for her. Sure enough, she rolled her body against yours, and let out a needy mewl. You kissed your way down her neck, soaking up everything you could about her. This was going to be your last time together. You were going to remember everything. She smelled like a combination of your Garnier shampoo, and soap, and something entirely Anna. Anna always smelled like black licorice to you, such to the degree that you couldn't eat the stuff without thinking about her. She felt warm, and pliant against your tongue. You swiped a small lick along her jugular, which was beating out a quick tattoo just like any human's. Anna's gasping breaths were turning you on like no other, you felt tingly down there as you started to get wet. Either sensing that you were getting turned on, or just unbelievably turned on herself, Anna started stripping you out of your clothes. There wasn't a lot to take off, since she'd showed up in the middle of the night. A t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and your panties, gone, and then you were naked. Annoyed at feeling the towel instead of Anna's skin, you all but ripped the thing off her. You both let out small whimpers at the feel of your soft skin pressed together from head to toe. You let your hands roam, squeezing Anna's breasts, brushing over her waist, grasping her hips, and finally grabbing one of her legs and hooking it around yourself, to let her grind against you. Anna let her head fall back, as you began to suck on one of her nipples while she tried to press her clit to your hipbone.

After a time, Anna began wordlessly tugging you towards the shower. Remembering how amazing she'd looked under the spray of the water when you'd first walked in, you were immediately on board with the idea of having sex in the shower. It was only when both of you stepped inside and were immediately greeted with a warm spray of water that you noticed that she'd never turned it off in the first place. You looked over at her, "You planned this."

She did that little half smile you'd always been so fond of, "I always had this fantasy of being with you in the shower back when I was human, even as an angel, I've been thinking about it a lot."

Anna looked so good with the water running over her, that even the offhand reminder that she was no longer being human didn't throw you. Wow. Just, wow. Anna had a spectacular body. You had always known this, but under the water she was a whole 'nother level. She had these pert little tits that always felt _so _soft. And her stomach was so smooth and flat that you could never decide if you were jealous or if you just wanted to lick caramel off of it. Her hips were beautifully rounded for someone so tiny, and her legs…good god, her legs. They had been the first thing you'd noticed about her, other than the hair, all those years ago. When you'd met at a party she'd been wearing this little jean skirt, and all you could think about when you saw her in it was getting those long, alabaster legs around your neck. They looked even better right now, getting shiny and wet from the water pouring over her. You felt mesmerized looking at the little streams of water breaking and rejoining all over her flawless skin. It was only when Anna slipped her own hand down between her legs, that you realized how long you'd been standing there gawping at her, and not touching her. You sunk to your knees immediately. You wanted to taste her. You pushed her hand out of the way and laid a long lick to her hip bone. God, she was beautiful.

Anna widened her stance, trying to give you more room to work. That wasn't going to do. You pressed your palms flat against her hips, and backed her up against the cold tile of the shower wall. You hooked one of her legs over your shoulder, just like you would do if she was standing anywhere else. You trusted her not to fall. You figured there _had _to be some upsides to being an angel, surely not falling down during shower sex could be one of them. Sure enough, Anna didn't fall. She didn't even wobble. What she_ did_ do was reach down and tug on your hair. You looked up at her, old Anna had always been immensely patient, it seemed as though new Anna was not possessed of the same virtue. Not that you cared, with her laid out like this in front of you, it wasn't like you were going to wait very long to eat her out anyway. You looked back down at her pussy, and remembered the first time you'd slept with her. You'd thought it unfair that someone got to be this pretty everywhere. Anna had neat, little inner lips, and full puffy outer ones. She had the fiery red hair that marked her as a natural redhead trimmed neatly. The sight of Anna's sex never failed to make your mouth water.

Unable to resist any longer, you pressed a long flat lick up the center of Anna's pussy. Mmm. She always tasted salty, and rich, like decadence in not-so-human form. She let out a soft sigh, as you began to warm her up. Under the warm stream of water, you felt your hair woven between Anna's fingers start to get wet and heavy. Still she didn't let go, tugging on it, and wiggling her hips, encouraging you to go faster. You tried to ignore how unusual this reaction would have been for the Anna you knew, and simply obeyed, licking faster. You felt her, rubbery, and wet underneath your tongue. Every time you lapped some of her wetness up, there was still more to replace it. Shower water ran in little streamlets down your face, getting into your mouth and mixing the mineral taste of tap water in with Anna's more luxurious flavor. You looped your arm around Anna's thigh, the one currently resting heavily on your shoulder, and pressed your hand against her hip harder in an attempt to keep her somewhat still. Anna simply groaned and arched her upper body more to compensate for the restricted movement of her lower half. You didn't remember her being this wiggly. Not that it wasn't hot as fuck all. It was just…nevermind.

You started centering your licks more to her clit, sucking it into your mouth every now and then. Anna sighed your name needily in reaction, the first time you did it, before settling back against the wall and just breathing heavily. She continued squirming as you licked her quickly covering the entire area around her clit with your mouth. You'd missed this. You'd missed this so much. The feel of the firm button of her clit underneath your tongue. The way her heel dug into your back as sensation overrode her ability to control all her limbs. The sharp tug at the roots of your hair, as Anna grasped and yanked, trying to find an outlet for her pleasure. Her small, little cries were starting to pitch up. She was getting close to coming. You'd always loved how Anna sounded in bed. All these little sounds, whimpers, kitten mewls, soft whispers of your name, Anna had never been very loud in bed, but the heaving sound of her breaths could get your motor running like nothing else. You lapped at her clit quickly, so eager to send her over the edge. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Anna's whole body locked tight with tension, her heel grinding into your back harshly. She called out your name in a husky, breathless cry, before sinking back against the tiles, loose limbed and sated. You let out your own little cry against her, and moved your tongue down to her entrance, lapping up all the wetness you'd missed while concentrating on her clit in order to bring her to orgasm. Anna shivered, and eventually pushed you away in overstimulation. You willingly went, and sat back on your heels looking up at her. Her dark red hair was sticking to her face, her cheeks were flushed, and she was still breathing heavily. She had her eyes closed and was clearly still coming down from her orgasm. You sat there for a moment, trying to get your fill of the endlessly erotic sight of Anna's wet, curvy body. Eventually you realized that you could look at only her for eons, and would never feel full, so you stood, and leaned in to kiss her softly. Anna let you, kissing back lazily.

You both stood there, kissing, bodies slick and soft against one another, until the water finally went cold. You reluctantly turned off the tap, and stepped out of the shower. Anna toweled you off gently, rubbing the soft terry over every inch of you. Once she was done, she knelt in front of you, still wet herself, and began to work you open with your tongue. It was worrisome to you that as she did, the only thought running through your head was, "Why isn't she cold?"


	30. Phone Sex- Molly-Dean

**Summary: **Dean Winchester has been freelancing for a sex line for six months now. So he knows a prank call when he hears one. Not so much a prank, more like a dare, and Molly Hooper definitely called him on a dare. But, dare or not, Dean is a fucking professional. Mostly because he's learned that he gets fired if he's not a fucking professional.

He goes through with the call, and as he does, he begins to find that while she may have terrible taste in friends, Molly is actually quite endearing. When she calls him back a few weeks later, he's pretty happy about that development. Especially since it's clear that she's got practically no clue what she's gotten herself into with this whole dom/sub stuff. What kind of person would he be if he didn't help her out? Saving people is part of the family business after all.

**Warnings:** sex worker! Dean, dom/sub stuff, spanking, light bondage

**A/N: **For this fic, Dean and Molly are both 22, and Sam (who is mentioned briefly) is 18. Molly just started med school, and Sam's still in high school. Also this is nearly 9,000 words of dialogue, so if any lines jump out at you as OOC for either Molly or Dean, be a friend and tell me (I've kind of lost perspective on the whole thing.)

Now for my generic spiel, in case you haven't heard it yet. This is part of the 100 kinks challenge created by PhandomDoodles, which I'm currently working my way through with a superwholock theme. All the kinks have been claimed in the name of various pairings, but I'd still love to have you join me for adventures on my tumblr! I crosspost the fics for this series there on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

This one was calling him on a dare; he knew the instant he picked up the phone.

Long distance number, muted giggling in the background, frantic shh-ing the moment he picked up. Yeah. This was a dare. He sighed internally, just because it was a joke didn't mean he got to skip out. He'd gotten in trouble for that a couple times. Whatever, sometimes the prank calls wound up being his longest ones of the night. Anything to put food on the table.

With all that in mind, he dropped his voice down to his trademarked "Dean Winchester wants to get in your pants," register and got going. "Hey, sweetheart. What can I do ya for?"

"I-I-I-um. Hi." _Whew_, this was a nervous one. Dean heard more giggling in the background.

"Hi. I'm Dean." Hadn't occurred to Dean to go by a fake name until he was six weeks into the gig, and by that point he just figured, fuck it. It was only his first name, and if someone was gonna recognize his voice they probably wouldn't need the benefit of his name to help them out.

"H-hi, Dean," the woman on the other end replied, still shaky.

"Hi." She still didn't offer up her name, and Dean could hear a shimmy to her breathing. "Take a deep breath for me now, sweetheart. I ain't gonna bite." Dean resisted the urge to tack on the automatic, "unless you want me to," bit. He had a feeling that might scare this one right off the line.

There was another pause.

"You want me to keep calling you pet names all night, or did you plan on tellin' me your name at some point?" Dean prompted, going the direct route.

"Molly," came bursting out. "My name's Molly."

"Good golly miss Molly," Dean replied smoothly. Cheesy, he knew. But the ones on dares typically liked cheesy. "What are you up to tonight?"

"N-nothing." More giggling.

Dean decided to address it. "Sounds like you got some friends over, Molly. This gonna be a conference call?"

"N-no. There's no one else here." Liar, liar. "It's just-just the television." Panties on fire.

Part of the dare must be to make it seem like a real call, then. No copping out and turning to your friends for help. "Think you could turn it down a bit, Molly? Wouldn't want anything to interrupt us."

"Oh, I- yes, I can- sure, I'll turn it down," there was some rustling, and Dean was pretty sure Molly was just moving further away from her friends, he could still tell he was on speaker. "Is that better, Dean?"

"Yeah, sounds a lot better, babe. Like it when it's just you breathin' in my ear."

"Oh, oh um thanks."

"You have a good day, Molly?" With the nervous ones, dare induced or not, Dean had learned to start innocuous, remind them he was a real, definitely-not-intimidating person, and not just some ephemeral embodiment of sex. And Molly _definitely_ qualified as "one of the nervous ones."

"Yes. It was, it was uh nice."

"Do anything fun?"

"Not really. I-uh had a test on neuroanatomy today."

"Doctor, eh?"

"Well, in training."

"That's just fine, you can still play doctor with me any day. That what you calling for, Molly?"

She cleared her throat. "N-no, I um, I have a- a-uh fantasy."

"I'm all ears, sweetheart." Dean really was, this was the best part. He pressed the phone a little closer to his ear.

"I um- want." There was a big pause, during which Dean was fairly sure Molly's friends were prompting her.

"I've heard it all, sugar, trust me." He heard Molly trying to get some sound out on the other end of the line. "Molly, trust me."

Molly's speech came out one big rush. "I want someone to tie me up and spank me."

"Oh just shoot me now," Dean thought. This had Fifty Shades of Grey written all over it. He'd been getting calls like this from women who didn't know a damn thing about the scene for over a year now. Dean wouldn't be so bothered, except he _did _know a thing or two about that world. He was all for kinks, as long as you knew what you were doing. And the number of girls who had called his line up, asking him to construct situations that didn't touch safe, sane, consensual with a ten foot pole was honestly kind of uncomfortable for him. He did his best to gently educate where he could, but _you_ try subtly weaving a thesis on proper sub care into the fantasy of a woman who just wanted to hear what she'd read in the books in a husky baritone. It was torture.

"Sammy needs new jeans. Sammy needs new jeans," he reminded himself over and over. This was what he needed the line for, Dad didn't approve card scams for anything other than the absolute basics. And with the way Sam kept growing, Dean needed a stable way to keep him out of high waders. Sex line was the best thing that had come along. Although it hadn't been what he expected, he still enjoyed it a solid 80% of the time, and it was easy to nip away in the car for a couple hours and put some time in, no matter what state they were currently passing through.

Dean rolled his eyes, but kept his voice even. "You been bad, Molly?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Maybe this wasn't _just _a dare for Molly after all. "Ye-yes. I've um, I've." There was the giggling again. Poor girl. "Yes, Dean."

"Bet you have. Now, Molly, listen to me. You ever want to pull out of this, you ever want me to stop, you just say tomato, and I'll stop. It's called a safeword, alright? You ever do this in real life, you're gonna want one of those. You say it, I stop, you got that?" There was silence on the other end. Dean would have bet his left foot that Molly was nodding on the other end, forgetting that she was on the phone. "Gonna need an answer, Miss Molly. You understand?"

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

"Good girl." Molly's shiver was practically audible to Dean. "Say it back to me, what are you gonna say if you want me to stop?"

"Tomato," Molly answered immediately, more smoothly than she'd said anything all night. Natural.

Dean smiled, starting to get a little into it. The shy ones were always so cute. "Anything I should know before we get started, Molly?"

Laughing and whispers.

"Ask to call him sir!" he heard someone call out from the peanut gallery.

He was gonna overcome his fears and get on a damn plane to deliver a transatlantic smackdown if those girls didn't shut up. "Can you hold on a second, Dean?" Molly asked.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Could he hold on a second? Dean wanted to laugh. Yeah, baby, put me on hold all night, you're the one paying for it.

Molly covered up the receiver, but Dean could still hear the hushed conversation she had with her friends about how much further they were going to take this. When she came back on the line, Dean decided to help her out. "Molly, if you're gonna ask to call me a name or something, you gotta know, I don't let new subs do that." It was a fucking lie. Sure he had his limits, but this was definitely not one of them. He was a sex line worker for god's sake, letting people call him "sir" was his bread and butter. But Molly and (more importantly) her friends didn't know that.

"What?"

"Sir. Master. Dom. Can't call me that out the gate, you gotta earn that shit."

"Oh," Molly replied. Maybe he shouldn't have helped. She actually sounded a little disappointed.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. Just don't want you getting in too deep. Call me back a couple times, and well, now that's a different story," he grinned. Having Molly as a repeat customer, _without _the entourage, was definitely not something he'd be averse to. She had a sweet voice, and he had a feeling she'd actually be a decent sub if she let him train her up.

"O-Okay, just Dean then."

"Just Dean," he nodded. "Anything else?"

"I'm sorry, any what?"

"Anything I should know?"

"Oh. I-I um could you, could you kind um- sorry I'm new- could you kind of ease me in?" Dean smiled softly. Shitty taste in friends or no, Molly was adorable.

"Yeah, Molly, I can do that. And don't worry about being new, everyone's new sometime. Now, you got that T.V. turned down nice and low?"

"Y-yes." No giggling.

"Good. You want me to tell you what I'd do if you were my submissive?" Full name. Submissive, not sub. Always got them going.

Molly's yes was a little too breathless to be entirely faked.

"I'd lay you out on my bed, in your pretty little dress. You got pretty little dress, Molly?"

"Yes, I-yes."

"Tell me about it."

Molly didn't have a lot of dresses, really just the one that fit what Dean was asking for. "It's uh-it's pink. And it's got these- uh ruffles, about knee high."

"Yeah? What's it look like on _you_, Molly?" Dean wanted a bit of physical description about her, made things easier.

"_Oh._ Um- well I'm kind of pale, so the pink goes well. It's uh-I think it's supposed to be shorter, but I'm not too tall, so it kinda covers my knees. It-uh kind of clings a bit at the waist. Light fabric, and all." Despite still being patently nervous, Molly was at least getting a bit more talkative.

"Good job, Molly. Thinkin' about you in your pink sundress, right now. Bet it looks real good on you. I'm gonna lay you out on my bed, god you look so pretty just lyin' there for me. Can't wait to touch you. Gonna run my fingers up your smooth legs. I got these real rough hands from working on my car, they're gonna feel great on you. I'm gonna kiss my way up those gorgeous legs of yours. Your ankles, up your calves, to that place behind your knee that makes you squirm just right for me. You doin' it now, baby? You squirmin' for me?" He heard rustling that indicated that Molly wasn't entirely still. Good. "I'm gonna slowly push your dress up so I can press my lips all over your thighs. Love girl's thighs. So fuckin' soft. Gonna put my lips all over them. I can see your panties now, Molly. Wanna take 'em off. Wanna see you. But first I'm gonna kiss my way up to them. Gonna kiss my way up your thighs, a little higher, a little higher, a little higher. Wanna see those hips of yours hitching, Molly. Then just when you're making these fuck hot sounds for me, just _whimpering_. Yeah, like that. Good girl, let me hear it. I'm so close to having my lips where you want them. Can you see it? Then, when my mouth is _just there,_ Molly, I'm gonna pull away from you." Molly actually made a sound of disappointment, like he was really in the room with her. Dean resisted the urge to laugh, shy or not he had her now. "Don't look at me like that, baby. I'm gonna touch you again soon. Gonna crawl up your body, till I'm straddling you. My weight on you, holding you down, got you good and pinned. Want you beneath me, Molly. Gonna kiss your neck, and put my hands just all over you. God, Molly. Bet you're smokin' hot, love touching you." Dean let some of the natural gruffness that overtook him during sex, slip into his voice. That was the other upside of this job. Dean had been decent at dirty talk before, but after a few months of doing it for a living, he was fuckin' fantastic. More importantly, now he was confident with it, he _knew _he was good. And if you thought that was a skill Dean didn't take full advantage of that in his time off, then you didn't know him at all.

"Then, when you're all loose and needy, yeah, just like that, I'll pin your arms up over your head." Molly let out a squeak at that. "Kiss the breath right out of you Molly, cause you're not going anywhere while I've got you like this. Got my big hands wrapped around your wrists. God, I can feel you squirming under me. Bet you'd be a wriggly little thing, huh, Molly. You wanna arch up into me while I've got you like this?" Dean very distinctly wasn't hearing giggling anymore. "You there, Molly?"

"Yes, yes Dean, I'm here."

"Keep going?"

There was a pause. Molly probably didn't want her friends to think that she actually wanted to continue the call with a sex line worker. Everything that Dean from experience knew to be arousal, her friends could very well be reading as nervousness. Although judging by the lack of giggling, her friends were getting caught up in the whole thing too. Asking a client if they wanted him to keep going would normally be a cardinal, shoot-yourself-in-the-foot sin for Dean, but he was about to get into the dom stuff, and he was starting to feel oddly protective of Molly.

Eventually she spoke. "Yes. Keep going, Dean."

"Good girl," he praised lowly, getting back into the scene. He could almost hear Molly's blush in the strained whimper she made. "So once I've got you good and worked up, I mean _really_ panting for it, squirming and begging, the whole nine, I'll give you your punishment. I'm gonna sit on the edge of the bed and lay you out over my knees. I'm hard, Molly, so hard for you. Can you feel me pressing up against your belly? Fuck, I want this. I'm gonna flip your dress up and run my hand over your pretty little ass. You've been such a bad girl. Can't wait to spank you, " Molly let out another involuntary sound that made Dean smile to himself. "Yeah, you got a nice ass, Molly. Can't wait to turn it pink. Gonna spank you till it matches your pretty, little dress. You ready, sweetheart? Want you to count 'em for me. Gonna pull my hand back and-"

Molly hung up. She hadn't even realized she'd done it until she heard the disappointed groans from her friends.

"_He was just getting to the good part."_

"_He sounded sexy."_

"_Why in the world did you wimp out?"_

That settled it. Sexy phone worker or no, she was never hanging out with these people again.

Molly spent the next week patently _not _thinking about Dean. Definitely. Definitely not thinking about Dean.

Dean and his sexy voice. Dean and what he could do to her. Dean and maybe if she called him a second time he'd let her call him sir, and…_no. _Stop it, Molly. You're being silly.

Silly or not, when, a fortnight later, she was _still _thinking about calling Dean, she finally started to rationalize. Who would know? What was so wrong about it? Her sexuality was nothing to be ashamed of. And playing with power dynamics was a very common desire. Was it that it was a sex line? If she wanted to pay for a service, was it really so different just because it involved sex? Okay, it sort of was, but Dean had seemed nice. And she could always hang up if it went south. Molly was always such a good girl, for once she wanted to be bad. More specifically, she wanted to be bad with Dean.

Much like when she hung up on him, Molly found herself dialing the number for Dean's company before she knew what she was doing. When the operator answered, she forced her voice to be strong as she asked for Dean specifically. The operator paused to check that his line was free, and then forwarded her on.

_*Ring. Ring.*_

"Miss Molly! Now, ain't you a sound for sore ears."

"Hello. How are you, Dean?" They must have told him she was calling. Strong, Molly told herself, she was going to be strong for this call, no more stuttering uncertainty.

"Doing better now that you called me. Just couldn't get enough, huh?"

Molly froze, she knew he was teasing, but she still didn't know how to respond, "I-I-uh-"

"Hey, your friends around? Or do I get you to myself this time?"

"I-uh, no. It's just me." Seemed he hadn't bought her lie about the T.V. after all.

"Still want the same stuff, or want something different now that you're flying solo."

"Um," so much for being strong on this call. She understood that he was a sex line worker, but he was just _so comfortable_ with all this. It was astounding.

"You don't do this much, huh Molly?" he asked a bit more gently.

"No. No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Ah, it's alright, Molly. Just be glad you got me," she could practically hear the wink, "I got your back… and your front, and your sides-"

"Dean," she interjected. He laughed. Dean was certainly being more playful this time around, Molly got the feeling he was a bit more comfortable without her friends in the background (thinking back on how much they giggled, she could understand why.)

"Alright, alright, sweetheart. Just fill me in on what you want, and I'll get us goin'. Won't even ask you any questions if you don't want, I can do all the talking."

"No, it's-it's fine." She had liked the interaction last time. "You can ask me whatever you like."

"You really wanna give me that much free play, Molly?" the slightly dark edge to his voice made Molly shiver. In the good way. That made her decision for her.

"Yes," she replied, her voice determinedly firm. "Anything."

"What if were to boss you around, tell you to do stuff. Would you like that?"

Molly pictured Dean's deep voice ordering her to take her panties off, and shivered again. Yes. Definitely yes. "Yes, I- that would be nice," her voice wasn't so steady that time.

"Good. Let's start with what you want, then. You still wanna get tied up?"

"Yes, I would."

"Want me to spank you?"

"Y-yes."

"Want anything new?"

Molly paused. She still wasn't used to asking for things like this.

"Really, Molly. I've heard every kink you can think of, and a few I guarantee you can't. Ain't nothin' you're gonna say that can shock me."

Molly drew in a deep breath. "I- could I call you sir this time?"

Dean's answer was more calmly benevolent than she'd expected. "Sure, Molly. 'Course you can. I was just trying to help you out with your friends last time, seemed like they were a little pushy."

"Thank you," Molly replied, surprised that a stranger on a sex line had been more worried about her comfort level than her friends had been. "I'm not, I'm not friends with them anymore," Molly found herself saying.

Dean's emphatic, "Good, fuck 'em" was more than a little comforting.

"I just thought I'd try the whole popular thing, new school and all," she giggle nervously.

"Yeah, well they sounded like bitches. Don't know you much, but you sound better than that."

Molly smiled slightly, "You're being paid to say that."

"I'm not. I'm being paid to tell you how I'd fuck you, and even then I'm more honest than I should be. Speaking of which, the hell'd you guys pick bondage and spanking?"

"Fifty shades of-"

"Yeah, I figured. Not you though?"

"No, not me. I mean, I _did_ read some of the first book, I just-well, I didn't like it very much. Christian seemed-"

"Like a huge douche?"

The corner of Molly's mouth quirked up, "Yes, he seemed like a spectacular douche."

"How'd you buy your one way ticket to sub city then?"

"I don't, I don't know, really. I just, I heard things, here and there, a very long time before Fifty Shades of Grey. I had a boyfriend who held my wrists down once, and I liked that quite a bit. When my friend found out, she made a joke about me being a sub; I didn't know what that was. So I looked it up, and I liked quite a lot of it. There are _some_ things that- anyway, I haven't really been sure where to go from there. All seems a bit-"

"Complicated. Right. Yeah, it's all kind of Alice in Wonderland, when you're new, don't know what's up or down and everyone's got different answers. Don't worry though I've got you, I'll lead you through. Let's start with what you _do _know. You know what a safeword is?"

"Yes, I know what a safeword is."

"You know about safe, sane, consensual?"

"A bit, yes."

"Okay, you know about limits?"

"Some. I know the basics. I know the difference between a hard and a soft limit."

"Alright, good. You got any limits, Molly? Any at all, hard or soft."

"Uh, nothing to extreme, I suppose."

"Gonna need more than that, Molly. You okay with hair pulling?"

"Yes."

"Oral sex?"

"Yes."

"Rough sex?"

"Well, not _too _rough."

"What counts as too rough for you? Everyone's different."

"I-uh- well, I don't want you to "hammer" me or talk about leaving bruises, or anything like that."

"Alright. Tying you up. Spread eagle okay, or you just want arms?"

Molly shivered, picturing it. "Spread eagle's just fine."

"Spanking. Just some love taps, turn your bottom kind of pink, or full on can't sit for a week?"

"Kind of pink would be nice," Molly could feel herself being pulled along by Dean's easy tone of voice. She could even feel some of his confidence seeping into her.

"Any words you don't like?"

"I don't want you to call me anything degrading."

"All about the love, huh?"

"Yes," she quite liked that. "Very much so."

"Me too. You ever get more into this, just so you know, sounds like you might want a run-of-the-mill dom, or a daddy dom. Don't go for any masters, or agree to be a slave, that's humiliation city nine times out of ten."

"Oh, okay. Thank you, Dean."

"You think you're ever gonna do this anywhere other than the phone?"

"Uh-"

"Not hitting on you, promise. I'm an ocean away from you. I'm just asking because if you ever want a guide, I'm here."

Molly would love Dean as a guide, but her heart sank. "Dean, I'm in med school and I…well, I don't think I could afford you." This was so embarrassing.

There was a slight pause, and Molly could almost hear Dean thinking. "Okay, you know what, how about this. Call my cell direct instead of the company, and I can do it for a third of the price. Company takes half my money anyway, so if we cut them out, I can take a one sixth hit to help you out."

Molly did some quick mental math. For a third of the price she could definitely pay for an hour a week. "Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

Molly paused. "You're _really_ sure."

"Jesus, Molly, if you don't want-"

"No, no, no, I do. I just- I'm sorry, Dean, I'm awful at taking favors."

"Was that a yes?"

"Yes. It was definitely a yes." Molly grinned, suddenly giddy. "Yes, thank you. Truly, Dean, this is- this is incredibly kind of you, I don't know how I can thank you."

"Yeah, well, if I can get one more well trained sub out there in the world, call it my version of charity. Also, if you could educate any of your dumbs ex-friends that might actually go out there and do this, that'd be great."

Molly wasn't so sure about that. She could maybe scrape up the courage to talk to Heather though, she seemed kind of nice. "I'll do my best."

"Good girl. Let's get you back on track then, since you're on a budget. Here's my number," and he recited his personal number. "We'll figure everything out later. Now, I'm not one to bite the hand that feeds, so you wanna get your jollies off, you save up and call me on this line. You want some help with the whole dom/sub business, you call me on my personal. You got that? No crossing the streams, here."

"Yes. I understand. Thank you…again."

"You're welcome, Molly. We'll have you trained up in no time. Now, you still wanna talk tonight?"

Molly paused. Dean was somehow simultaneously more and less intimidating now that he seemed more like a real person to her. But she thought about what he'd sounded like the last time she'd been on with him, and she couldn't help but want that desperately. She sucked in a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"Now that's what I like to hear. Let's get this show on the road."

"Wait," Molly steeled herself. "Just, one more thing. And if you don't-I don't know what's okay to ask- so if you don't wanna say-"

"Spit it out. I'll let you know if you hit a line."

"I was wondering, what do you look like? Just so I- when I-"

"You wanna picture it? With me? Not some guy, you got a crush on or something? Cause you _do_ know you can think of anyone. That's kind of the best part about these lines. I could be Ryan fuckin' Gosling in your head."

"I never really liked Ryan Gosling. It's your voice, I want to think of you."

Dean bit his lip. "You live in England, right?"

"Yes."

"Know anyone in the states?"

"There's a guy in my med class, but that's all."

"Okay." Dean sounded like he was gearing himself up to do something reckless. Molly got the feeling that Dean was reckless a lot. Molly heard a ding on her phone.

"Hold on, Dean, I've got a text." She pulled the phone away from her ear, and opened up her messages. A new number had sent her a photo. Wait a moment, that number looked familiar. She grabbed the pad on which she'd recently written Dean's number, and compared the two. It was Dean's number. She clicked on the photo to make it bigger. Was that Dean? Goodness he was attractive. He was standing next to a car, smiling at the camera, looking proud. Judging by how far he came up on the car, he was tall. He had tousled light brown, almost blonde, hair, and bright green eyes. He had on a big brown leather jacket, and looked every inch the American that she knew him to be. He was so attractive, she knew that she should be questioning whether or not it was really him. But Dean just seemed so straightforward, that she instinctively trusted him. She put the phone back up to her ear, "Wow," she said before she could stop herself. "I mean, you're very, really, you're very-"

"Thanks, sweetheart. Don't go spreading that around now. I find that thing on the internet with my name attached, and I'm coming for you, and not in the fun way, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Molly replied, reflexively to the no nonsense tone in his voice.

"Okay. You got a decent picture in your head now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, so where were we, oh that's right, I was about to spank your disobedient ass." Molly made a sound and squirmed. "No touching yourself yet, sweetheart. So, you're good and worked up. I've kissed you all over. You've still got that sweet dress on, you got it on now, Molly?" Molly turned bright red. She had in fact put on the dress, despite not consciously planning on calling Dean. "Molly," he prompted.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Turn over on your stomach, and pull it up. Want you to feel the air on your bottom." Molly rolled over, thrilling internally at following Dean's directions. It was also strangely calming, all she had to do was follow Dean's lead. She pulled the hem of her dress up, wiggled her hips a little, trying to picture the feel of Dean's thighs underneath her stomach. "You there?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good girl," Molly loved when he called her that. "I'm rubbing my hand over your ass, gettin' it nice and warm before I spank you. You've got such a sweet ass, Molly. I'm grabbing it and squeezing it, really enjoying myself before I punish you. I've got my other hand on your back to keep you still. You keep trying to arch into it, don't you." Molly nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "That's right. I'm gonna give you fifteen, Molly. Fifteen, and then I'll tie you up and give you what you need. No touching yourself until I say, you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Here comes the first one, you safeword out if you need. My hand stops rubbing you, and leaves your ass. Bet you're tremblin' all over in anticipation. Then my hand comes down hard. Count it, Molly."

"One."

"One, what?"

"One, sir." Molly was rubbing her legs together, she could almost feel his hand.

"Okay, good. Again."

"Two, sir."

"Now it's not gonna be as sharp, cause your panties are protecting you. But you're still gonna feel a sting. You ready for the next one?"

"Yes, sir."

"Here we go. I'm gonna spank you again. Big, broad hand against your ass."

"Three, sir."

"And again."

"Four, sir."

"One more."

"Five, sir."

"Alright, pull down your panties for me. Wanna see your sweet little cunt. That's what you say over there, right? Cunt not pussy?" Molly moaned lightly, but otherwise didn't respond. She really couldn't care less which word Dean used, they both sounded wrong and naughty in all the best ways. Besides, she just couldn't wait to get her knickers off, she reached down pulled them down to her knees, feeling the cool air against her nether regions. "You getting wet for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes. Yes, sir."

"Good. Gonna feel it. Gonna press one thick finger inside you, god you _are_ wet, Molly. All that for me, sugar?"

"Yessss."

"Can you put me on speaker? You're gonna need your hands." Molly, never happier that her roommate was out for the night, put Dean on speaker and placed the phone on her bedside table.

"Can you hear me?" Molly asked once she hit speaker.

"Coming in loud and clear, Molly. Now lie back down, and hitch your hips up a little. There you go, now reach down and put two fingers in yourself, don't play with your clit." Molly groaned. She really, _really _wanted some friction there. "Not used to being told, no, huh?" Molly simply groaned again, as she sank her fingers into herself, imagining it was Dean fingering her. "Got you fingers in there, huh. Feel good?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bet you do. You got a nice little pussy, Molly. Love fingering you. You gotta stop squirmin' though, gonna fall right off my lap." Molly whimpered a little as she tried to get her body to still. "Come on, you can do it, Molly. Stay still for me while I finger you." Molly tried to lock her muscles, staying as still as she could while she pumped her fingers in and out of herself. "Add a third," Dean instructed. Again, Molly did as she was told, and pushed a third. She couldn't stop the buck of her hips at that. She also couldn't stop herself from thumbing her clit just a little. She let out a whispery whine at that. "Molly," Dean said sternly, and she immediately knew that _he _knew. "What did I tell you?"

"You told me to stay still."

"Uh-huh, and?"

"I- uh-put three fingers in-in"

"You know the one I'm talking about, Molly."

"You said that I couldn't play with my clit."

"And did you?"

She didn't want to disappoint him. "N-no, sir?"

"Don't lie to me, Molly." Oh, god. His stern voice was really turning her on.

"Just-I only touched it a little."

"That's what I thought. Hands off, Molly. Entirely off. Bad girls don't get fingered while they're getting spanked." Molly reluctantly withdrew her fingers, acutely aware at the loss. "Your pussy looks so pretty, Molly. Shame I won't get to play with it while I spank you."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's okay. Simple mistake. I'm just teaching you consequences. Now keep your hands on the bed while I finish punishing you." And Molly did. Counting her way through all remaining ten spanks, feeling exposed with her panties around her knees and her dress pulled up. She pictured Dean's large hand coming down against her over and over, turning her bottom pink, and it only redoubled her desire to try this out for real. Once he was done, he soothed a hand over her and told her how pretty and pink her bottom looked. "Stand up now, Molly." Molly stood on shaky legs, kicking her underwear the rest of the way off. "You're gonna strip for me." A tremor ran through her at the thought of doing this in front of someone. "I can't really see you, remember, Molly? Just _wish _I could. Fuck, do I wish I could see you." She hadn't said anything, how did he know? "I'm gonna walk you through it. You got any shoes on?"

"No, sir," the answer came automatically.

"Alright, start with your dress then, take the hem and slowly pull it up. Yeah, like that, looks so good, Molly, can't wait to get inside you. There we go, up over your waist. Pull it all the way off." She did. "Now your bra. Unhook the back, let the shoulders slide down, hold up the center. There we go, now let it drop. Yeah. Man, Molly. You look, just, so good. Come stand between my knees. Gonna run my hands all over you. Gonna take your nipple in my mouth. Look down, Molly. I'm still looking at you. Can't keep my eyes off you. Wanna fuck you so bad. I'm gonna reach down, and run my fingers lightly over your lips. Do that for me, Molly. Just lightly." Molly did as she was told, standing at the side of her bed, eyes closed, picturing Dean. "Good. Now run your hands all over your body, touch every inch you can reach. Uh-huh that's it. Fuck gotta have you, get on the bed, Molly. Lie right down in the center of it. Now put your hands over your head. I'm gonna tie them to the headboard. Got some rope with me, gonna tie you down so you can't move an inch. Got your hands there, Molly? Gonna loop the rope through the headboard and down around your wrists. Believe me, babe, I'm good with knots, you're not going anywhere." Molly panted, just thinking about it, wishing there was a non-dangerous way she could tie herself up right now. "Now spread your legs. Gonna tie your ankles." Molly whimpered at that, and spread her legs obediently. The cool air of her apartment hit her pussy, and she shivered, feeling exposed.

"Dean," she moaned out unconsciously.

"Not, Dean, sweetheart, not right now."

"Sir!" she corrected herself, "Sir, please." She didn't even know what she was asking for.

"I got you. I got you. Gonna give you what you need, just a minute. Okay, gonna tie your right ankle up first. Go ahead tug at it, can't move it an inch. Actually, wait a minute, you got some scarves, Molly?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go get 'em. This one you can do without getting yourself in a bind, literally. Grab some scissors too, always better safe than sorry." Excited, Molly grabbed a pair of scarves that she didn't care much for, and her sharp sewing scissors. She started to hurry back to the bed, but Dean must've heard her footsteps and called, "No running with scissors, Molly. The fuck was your kindergarten teacher? Or do you guys just not have guns, so you run around with sharp shit all day." Molly smiled, and slowed down, sometimes Dean sounded like _such _an American that she wanted to laugh. She finally reached the bed again and put the scissors on the table, before getting back on the bed with the scarves. "You get back to your bed alive?"

"Yes, sir," Molly answered, letting out a small giggle.

"Alright, first thing's first, double knot both the scarves around the posts at the bottom of your bed."

"Is there any specific knot I should use, sir?"

"Nah, just do whatever you can to make sure they won't slip off or come undone. I'm not gonna waste your time teaching you how to do a half hitch over the phone."

"Okay," Molly replied, tying the scarves to the post. "I'm all done, sir."

"Great, you know how to do a slip knot?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, make one of those for each of the scarves, and loop them around your ankles. I'll get you some sexy play by play in a minute. But first let me stress that the _only _reason this knot is okay right now is because you're using scarves. You ever get yourself some rope, do not use this knot. You got me? Don't do it. I'm not having you wind up with nerve damage just because you grabbed some rope and got adventurous."

"I understand, sir."

"Tell me."

"I won't use a slip knot for anything but scarves."

"Good girl. Now, that knot's gonna pull tighter when you struggle. It'll feel good, and it's pretty easy to get out of with scarves, but anything else and it can get uncomfortable real quick."

"I understand, sir."

"Alright. Go ahead and start, I'll walk you through it. I'm gonna run my hand down your right leg first. You look so good laid out like this, Molly. I'll loop the rope around your right ankle, and tie it down. Got it nice and secure. Only thing you've still got free is your left leg. Gonna take care of that now. Get you all tied up. This time when I run my hand down, I'll start at your stomach and just barely brush my hand over your pussy. I know, you want more. Not now, gotta finish tying you up. Down, down, down, until I've got my fingers wrapped around your ankle. Then I'll slide the rope around that one, and tie it to the post. You like that baby?"

"Yes, sir," Molly replied, finishing the last knot just as he did.

"You all tied up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Awesome. Lie back down." Molly did as she was told, stretching her hands up over her head. She felt pulled tight, and oh so open. She was definitely wet, and wanted nothing more than to touch herself. Instead she pulled against the scarves, surprised at how much having her legs held apart like this turned her on. "Uh-uh," Dean tutted. "Did I say you could try those out yet?" He must have heard her moving.

"No, sir."

"That's right. Now stay still for a moment so I can have a look at you. With great effort, Molly stopped moving. "Look at that, so fuckin' sexy, Molly. There we go, nice and still for me. I'm gonna take my clothes off now, don't move an inch until I tell you, alright? Good girl. Gonna take my shirt off first." Molly pictured what the man from the photo would look like without his many layers, all tan skin, and broad shoulders. She bit her lip and wiggled her hips. "Steady," Dean intoned, did the guy have supersonic hearing? "Listening is part of my job, babe. I'm gonna know if you disobey." Molly shuddered, and tried once again to resist the urge to pull against her restraints. "Next I'll sit down on the bed next to you and take off my shoes and socks. Not gonna stop looking at you the whole time. Gonna make sure you know what I'm gonna do to you."

"What are you going to do to me," Molly wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to hear him say it so badly that she just barely remembered to tack on, "Sir."

"I'm gonna fuck you, Molly. Gonna fuck you right into that mattress, and you're gonna come all over me." Molly moaned, and couldn't help but pull at the scarves around her ankles. It felt so _good._ "Not gonna do it if you can't stay still for me, sweetheart." Molly whimpered frustratedly, pushing her shoulders into the mattress in an attempt to stay still. "C'mon don't sell yourself short, now. You can do this." Molly huffed. His earlier assessment about her not being used to being told no was definitely correct. Her hand twitched, and her hips hitched, but she didn't pull on her restraints again. "Thatta girl. You're almost there, babe. I'm gonna take my pants off now. Slide them right off. I've only got my boxer briefs left. You can see how hard I am for you. Want it. Fuck, Molly, want you." Dean's voice was gruff enough, that Molly was almost willing to believe that he was telling the truth. "Gonna stroke myself over my boxers. Uh-uh. Stay where you are. Good girl. You want them off?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Want me to let you touch yourself?"

"Yes, yes sir. Please."

"Good girl. Show me those restraints now, baby, test 'em out." Molly did as she was told, gladly. She arched her body, pulling against the scarves around her ankles. Reveling in the way they pulled tight around her and held her down. "Yeah, just like that. Good. Gonna sit on the bed and play with your pussy a little. Go ahead and take one hand down, Molly. Touch yourself anywhere you want, but your clit. Imagine that's me doing it. Imagine all you want is for me to touch your clit but you can't get me to. You need it bad, huh? Want me to touch your clit?"

"Yes, yes, Dean, _please!"_ This was even harder because the only thing keeping Molly from what she wanted was her own desire to obey Dean.

"That's it. Beg me, Molly."

"Please, I just want you to touch me. Please I need-Dean, I need you to have sex with me! I'm so close, please, sir, please!" Begging came easier to Molly than she had anticipated.

"You want it that bad?"

"Yes. Yes, please."

"Then use the bad words."

Molly paused.

"I know you know 'em. Now tell me to fuck you, or tell me to stop."

"F-f, please, fuck me, sir."

"Again."

"Fuck me, sir."

"Again."

"Please, please fuck me, sir!"

"Good girl. Okay, gonna fuck you, just a second. Gotta get my boxers off. Hands off, can't touch you while I'm stripping." Molly reluctantly pulled her hand away. "Alright, I'm gonna stand next to the bed and take off my boxers. Then I'm just gonna stand there stroking myself for you. You can't see in the picture but I got a big dick. Maybe if you're real good, one day I'll send you some proof. God yeah, you look good like that. All strung out and begging. You belly doin' that little quiver thing girls do when they want something real bad?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, I bet so. Could just stand here all day strokin' it, lookin' at you, Molly."

"Dean, please."

"You need another spanking, or you gonna remember your place?"

"Sir! Sir, please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely. Gonna settle right between your knees. Feel spread out, Molly? You tuggin' on those ties?"

"Yes. Yes, Sir. I want to put my legs around you."

"Can't, sweetheart. Gonna have to trust me to give you what you need. Gonna reach down and rub myself over your pussy. Fuck, you're wet, Molly. Go ahead and run a couple fingers over yourself, non-dominant hand, you're gonna need the other one in a minute. Uh-huh, like that. Now push three of 'em inside when I say. Yeah, I said three, coulda gone with four, still woulda been smaller than my dick. Okay, now, just gonna trace the head of my dick over your cunt. Just let you squirm for a bit. Can't move an inch can you, Molly?"

"No, sir."

"Got you tied down nice and tight. Ready, Molly? Gonna start to slowly push in, go ahead and push those fingers in, real slow, just like that." Molly's breath hitched, and she started letting out soft, short whines as she pushed her fingers inside herself. "Son of a bitch, you're so hot, Molly. So wet. Jesus. Ah, that's good. In and out, gonna start to fuck you now. There we go. Now take your other hand. Rub your clit. Fuckin' finally right?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Such a natural, Molly. Some dom's gonna be real lucky to have you." Molly glowed at the praise and moaned as she finally started to rub her clit. "Uh-huh. Nice and slow, now. Gonna fuck you nice and slow. Let you feel every inch of me push in and then back out. Feel your body all over mine just touchin' everywhere. Can you find your g-spot for me, Molly?" Molly paused. She thought the g-spot was a myth. "Doctor, right? Bunch of fuckin' liars. Just tilt your wrist down, and curl your fingers towards your front a bit. Okay, now feel that spot that's a little rougher?"

She felt it, "Yes, sir."

"Just rub there, back and forth firm pressure. Different for everyone, sometimes it takes a bit to get going, sometimes, nothing at all. Try it out though, always worth a shot." Molly did as he said, rubbing the spot firmly. She didn't really feel anything, but she kept going. If nothing else the pressure on her clit would be enough to get her off. "Alright. Good girl. Gonna pump a little harder now. Fuck you right into the mattress like I promised. Fuck yeah, you look so good with your wrists tied like that. Can you feel me against you, all of my body against yours? You wanna-"

"Oh shit! _Ohmygod_ Dean!" She felt it. All at once, her persistent rubbing against her g-spot started doing something. Boy, did it start doing something. Molly felt heat explode outward from her lower stomach, and her hips flew off the bed.

She heard Dean's triumphant smile in his voice, "That's my girl! Welcome to the g-spot, population, you. Feel good, Molly?"

"Unnnhhhhh," Molly moaned in response.

"Thought so. Next time this comes up in class, you tell those doctors to stop spreading lies. I don't want another girl coming to me thinking her g-spot doesn't do shit."

"Deeeaaaan," Molly groaned, her body was being lit up from the inside out, she did _not _want to talk about med school.

"Right, fuck sorry. Okay, so you feel it now right? I'm dicking you good. Yeah, just like that. Feel me inside you? Rubbing up against your clit with every thrust. Feels so good doesn't it, Molly. Yeah. Want you to come for me. Wanna hear how you come." Molly moaned again. She was so close. Rubbing her g-spot was like nothing she'd ever felt. It felt like her orgasm was welling up inside her, rather than being some external thing that came along before she knew it, and bashed her over the head. "Molly, you got me?"

"Yes, sir. I can- I can do it."

"Bet you can. You got this, Molly. I'm thinking of you right now, all hot and bothered, tied up on your bed for the first time, about to come for me. So pretty, Molly. Say my name. Say my name when you come."

"Dean," Molly whined. "Please, could you- I-I want you to come with me."

"Oh, fuck," Dean sounded like the breath had gotten punched out of him. She worried that he was about to say no, but then she heard rustling, and then Dean's voice saying, "Just for you, baby. Special exception. Fuckin' hard already. Just gimme a minute."

"Dean," she begged. Molly didn't feel like she could hold on much longer.

"Hold your horses, alright? Better yet, hold your orgasm. Yeah, hold it for me. This here's called edging. Just what it sounds like. Get right up to that edge, and hold it there. Not coming, just staying. Think you can edge a little for me, Molly?"

"I'm trying, Dean."

"There is no try," Dean huffed.

"Don't. Quote. Films. Now." Molly managed to grit out. What kind of sex line worker was he?

"You got Star Wars there too, huh? That's actually kind of hot. Alright, hold on, I'll be there in a second." And then Dean stopped talking, except for the occasional "Fuck, Molly." That didn't mean he was quiet though. Dean was letting out a series of huffs, and groans, and growls, that were so insanely sensual that it made Molly's given task of not coming, almost impossible. She'd asked to come with him though, and she didn't want a silly thing like her own lack of willpower to get in the way of that happening. Finally Dean started talking again. "Okay, okay, Molly. I'm close. God, I wish I was really fucking you. Sound so good breathin' in my ear."

"Dean."

"That's it, darlin'. Oh, fuck. Yeah. Gonna come, Molly. You gonna come with me?"

"Yes, yes, Dean."

"Alright, when I say. Whew. So fuckin' glad to be the first one to make you come on command."

"_Dean," _Molly couldn't take much more.

Dean dropped his voice low, and ordered, "Come for me, Molly."

Molly arched up and moaned, "Dean!" her moan pitching up to a squeal at the end up his name. She felt her whole body tense up, and came with her own fingers inside her imagining it was Dean's dick. She pictured the hot stranger leaning over her, fucking himself inside her, about to come himself. Her orgasm seemed to go on and on as she kept rubbing herself, crying Dean's name out a second time, pulling against the restraints around her ankles, trying to curl up. Somehow the inability to curl into herself made the whole thing more intense, and it made her wonder how powerful it would really be to come spread eagled, unable to move at all. She pushed her hips against her own hands, trying to get her fingers deeper, wanting something to bare down on. Somewhere in the middle of all this, she registered Dean letting out an, "Oh fuck, Molly," and heard him come with a drawn out breath and a deep grunt.

Eventually she flopped back on the bed, warm and sweaty all over, completely spent.

"That good, sweetheart? It sounded good."

"Yes. Oh god, yes, Dean. That was very, _very _good."

Despite how smug he sounded, Dean was still oddly endearing. "Knew it was good." He took a deep breath. "Okay. You're gonna need to take care of yourself, now. Wash up. Take a bubble bath. Rub yourself down. Get some pie, or something. And tell yourself how great you did. Cause you did, Molly. Really great. I don't jack off with just anyone."

"Thanks, Dean."

"Thank _you,_ Molly. You feelin' alright, or you want me to stay on the line with you?"

"No, I think I'm okay."

"Okay. But you start feeling real lonely, or, or guilty, or in any way bad about what we just did, you call me on my personal line, and I'll pick right up. That's called sub-drop and I don't want you going through that alone."

"I will, Dean."

"Promise me, now. No toughing it out."

"I promise."

"Good girl. I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later, Dean." She hung up.

Molly did as she was bid, and took good care of herself for the next hour. She took a long bubble bath, wrapped herself in her favorite terry cloth robe, and sat watching her favorite show with some chocolate cake and her roommate's cat, until the loose limbed sleepiness that had been with her ever since she'd come down from orgasming over the phone with Dean, finally took over, and she returned to her bed. She changed the sheets and curled up under the covers. She couldn't wait until the next morning, when, bright eyed and bushy tailed, she could grab her laptop and google the thousands of questions she had after her phone call with Dean. And maybe, just maybe, once she'd filtered some of the more commonplace questions out, she could call Dean again, this time on his personal number, and ask for advice.

**Epilogue: **By the way, after this fic, I imagine Dean and Molly slowly becoming friends, and that one day he stops charging her altogether, because their conversations have become (at best) 50% about d/s stuff. I imagine Dean telling Molly very selective things about his life, so that it appears normal. He doesn't want to drag her into this shit. I imagine him feeling very protective about her. They never meet, but if they did there would be a definite, "I'd fuck you if you asked," kind of vibe, but for the most part they're just good friends. I imagine him calling Molly for advice on cases, phrasing his questions in hypotheticals. Molly knows there's stuff he's not telling her, but she doesn't ask.

For Molly, Dean's great to vent to, and gives some of the best advice she's ever gotten, even if she doesn't follow it. Case in point, Dean's got some very strong opinions about Sherlock, and how he treats her, but Molly just can't seem to break herself away. When she's nearly hysterical from stress in med school, Dean always talks her back down. He always say she sells herself short, that she's one of the smartest people he knows. Sometimes she doesn't hear from Dean for a while, and when he comes back he sounds worse for wear, but he always waves it away, saying he just got busy for a bit there. Molly doesn't pry much, she figures Dean would tell her if he wanted to.

Eventually, there's a last call. Molly doesn't know it at the time, and neither does Dean. She's not worried when a couple months pass, or even a year, he's been gone that long before. But when it hits a year and a half, she starts calling more frequently. She tells herself he changes phones a lot, so maybe her increasingly concerned messages just aren't getting to him. But in the back of her mind, she remembers that he always has her number, even if she doesn't have his. At two years, she starts to lose hope. At two and a half, she gets a call. It's his brother. He's finally gotten himself together enough to go through his brother's effects, and he found his brother's call history. Molly's number had been the most called aside from his own. He'd called to find out who she was. Apparently Dean had never told him about her. From Sam, Molly learns of Dean's passing, and inadvertently learns of what he did, since Sam didn't know to keep it a secret. For some odd reason, she believes him. She and Sam spend the rest of the day talking about Dean, and then never speak again. Molly takes the next day off from work, and listens Dean's old messages. She cries and thinks about calling Sam, but they're strangers, and the fact that Dean kept her from him had clearly cut Sam deep. So, she cries by herself, and does what Dean suggested after their first real phone call all those years ago. She takes a bubble bath, eats some cake, and sits with her cat. She takes care of herself. It's what Dean would have wanted.


End file.
